
Glass 1 r)^>57 6.. 
Book J-Lu. 




/ 



GEN. ALBERT PIKE. 



GEN. ALBERT PIKE'S 



POEMS. 



WITH INTRODUCTORY BIOGRAPHICAIv SKETCH 

— BY — 

MRS. LILIAN PIKE ROOME, 

DAUGHTER OF THE AUTHOR. 



ILLfelSTRATED. 



LITTLE ROCK, ARK.: 

KRB,D. W. AL.L.SOFP, Publisher. 

1900. 



Library of Ccngtttt^ 

orncc of the 

nt>Et»Ur of Copyrlght«i 



oi>764 



Copyrighted. 1899, 
By MRS. LILIAN PIKE ROOME 

AND 

FRED W. ALLSOPP. 



SECOND COPY. 






pi 



When I am dead, I wish my monument to be builded 
only in the hearts and tnem,ories of m,y brethren 
of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite. 

— ALBERT Pike. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



I need offer no apology for presenting to the public this 
volume of Gen. Albert Pike's Poems; the poems are too good 
to be lost, and I wonder that a collection of the author's 
writings has not been published for general circulation 
long since. Being a great admirer of those of the poems 
which I had read, I sought and obtained the sanction of 
the celebrated author's daughter, Miss Lilian Pike, since 
become Mrs. Roome, to publish same, and induced her to 
write the accompanying splendid biographical sketch of 
her honored father. 

I was encouraged to carry out a previous resolution 
to publish the book by reading the following tribute to 
the author, contributed to T/te Gazette iuMsLy, 1899, by Mrs. 
Eldridge Greening, of Camden, Ark., who regretted, "that 
with his unquestioned poetic genius, he did not give to the 
world a book of poems, such as he only could produce, 
and write his name on Fame's glorious temple, beside 
those of the greatest poets of the past and present age: — " 

"The fugitive verses of Albert Pike, going the rounds 
of the press, did more to arouse a literary feeling through- 
out the State and direct attention to the literary capabil- 
ities of the South than volumes of Tennj-son, in red and 



— 5 — 

gold, could have done. His name must necessarily stand 
at the head of the list of Arkansas authors, for it was in 
this iState he composed nearly, if not all, of his famous 
poems, and it was of the State he loved so well he wrote 
and sang with exceeding sweetness. He gave us, more 
than any other writer, a distinct place in the literature of 
the country. His simple, melodious verses touched the 
hearts of thousands, and gave him and the State a world- 
wide fame. His record is made. With the fleeting years 
his name as a writer of standard, wholesome poetry will 
not vanish, but grow brighter and brighter. Arkansas 
will always honor the name of Albert Pike. 'Every Year,' 
with its simple pathos, will forever enshrine itself in 
every Southern heart." 

I trust that the volume may receive a welcome. 

Fred. W. Allsopp. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

After the Midnig-ht Cometh Morn 145 - 

After Dinner 338 "- 

Annie 189 

Ariel 90 ' 

As the Seasons Come and Go 366 "^ 

At Midnight 217 

Auld Lang- Syne 133 

Autumn 228 ^ 

Biographical sketch of Gen. Pike, by Mrs. Lilian Pike 

Roome 9 - 

Bridal, the 318 

Brown October 303 *»— ' 

Buena Vista 177' — 

Carisima 276 

Caroline 262 

Christmas 199 

Cleopatre 363 - — 

Cruiskeen Lan 346 

Dead Chase, the 151 

Dirge, a 281 — 

Dying Wife, the 292 

Ellen 301 

Evening Conversation, an Ill 

Every Year 31 <^ 

Fanny 245 ^—~ 

Farewell to New England 175 '' 



— 7 — 

Fine Arkansas Gentleman, the , 331 

First Wild Flowers of Spring:, the 267 

Fragment, a 271 

Genevieve 236 

Gertrude 283 

Home 193 

Hymns to the Gods 35 

Invitation, an 231 

Invocation 258 

Jubila^ 300 

La Maitresse de la Poste 274 

Ivament for Dixie, a 297^ 

Ivatonayf 78 

Les Marchandes 272 

Light of Days Long- Past, the 221 

Lines Written on the Rockj' Mountains 239 

" " " " Mountains West of the Rio Del Norte 285" 

" Written to a Lady *. 197 

Love Blooms But Once 171 

Magnolia, the 266 

Ma Triste Cherie 242 

Mignonne 255 

Morning, a Lament 212 

My Native Land, My Tennessee 140 

Night, a Reverie 206 

Night On the Arkansas 138 

Noon In Santa Fe 184 

Ode to the Mocking Bird 110 

O Dearest, O Daintiest Mignonne 142 

Old Canoe, the 87 



Oh Jamie Brewed a Bowl of Puuch 350 

Ora Atque Labora 225 

Reflections 247 

Reunion 187 

Rocky Mountains, the 239 

Silver Wedding-, the (A Masque) 305 

Similes 279 

Sonnet, a 355 ' 

Spree at Johnny Coyle's 320 

Spring- 130 • 

Struggle for Freedom, the 136 

Sunset in Arkansas 252 

To a Robin . . : 172 

To Genevieve 236 

To Mary 223 

To the Mocking Bird 203 

To the Moon 289 "^ 

Voyage of Ivife, the 125 

Waif Returned, the - 362 

When California Was a Foreign I^and 356 

Widowed Heart, The 147 

Wilt Thou on Thy Sweet Bosom Wear 359 



/ 



—11— 

minded, high-struug, sensitive, chivalrous, munificent, 
communicative with those he loved, but reserved to stran- 
gers and uncongenial persons; ambitious and conscious of 
his powers, yet diffident and modest; easily depressed by 
unkind words and sneers, but steadfast in his determina- 
tion to do something, to be a power in the world. Thrown 
with rigid Puritans, who had little toleration for senti- 
ment, and scorned poetry and "flowery talk," as they called 
everything imaginative and ideal, it is not to be wondered 
at that he longed to breathe a freer air, to lead a wider 
life than the purely materialistic one of wage -earning and 
eating and drinking, with no thought of greater things, 
no interchange of ideas, no aspirations towards intellec- 
tual development. 

All his efforts, therefore, tended to this end, to make 
money enough to go forth to the newer western world. 
The Pacific coast was the goal for which he started in 
March, 1831. He reached St. Louis, joined a party of 
pioneers, and went as far as Santa Fe; in September, 1832, 
joined a trapping party at Taos, and went down the Pecos 
River, and into the Staked plains; endured starvation and 
many hardships, found himself stranded among strangers 
with nearly all his money gone, concluded that he was not 
on the best road to fame and fortune, retraced his steps, 
and, with five of his companions, left the main party and on 
the 10th of December, 1832, reached Fort Smith, Arkansas, 
and stopped there. He taught school near Van Buren, 
Arkansas, and wrote articles for the local papers and a 
series of articles on the political topics of the day, under 
the nom de plume of Casca, which were published in the 
Little Bock Advocate, the organ of the Whig party. 
These attracted much attention by their admirable liter- 



—12— 

ary style, their pungent and epigrammatic tone and clas- 
sical lore, and above all, the originality and virility that 
breathed in every line. Colonel Crittenden, the most 
prominent Whig in the state, came to see him; was as 
much attracted by his personality as by his writings, and 
caused him to be offered the position of associate editor of 
the Advocate. He accepted it, and moved to Little Rock 
and there abided. In that southern town he found the 
atmosphere he needed; he was loved and admired, his talents 
were appreciated, he was encouraged to put forth all his 
powers; there he found fortune and fame. 

The Territorial Legislature was in session when he 
reached Little Rock, which was in October, 1833, and a 
few days after he was elected assistant secretary of the 
council, and served as such until the end of the session, 
making, as he said, many acquaintances and some life- 
long friends; at the same time working in the Advocate 
office, learning to set type and editing, and at intervals 
reading the first volume of Blackstone, until October, 
1834. That winter, when he had read only the first vol- 
ume, Thomas J. Lacy, of the Territorial Superior Court, 
gave him a license to practice law. 

In the meantime, at the house of some friends, he had 
met a very beautiful young lady. Miss Mary Ann Hamil- 
ton. It was probably a case of love at first sight; for 
soon he was paying her devoted court, and writing poems 
to her, which he slipped into her hands whenever he could 
do so without attracting attention. These, I am sorrj^ to 
say, she did not treasure as she should have done, foronlj'^ 
one remains on record, the one entitled "To Mary," in his 
"Nugae." His suit was prosperous, and they were mar- 
ried on the 10th of October, 1834, at the house of Colonel 



—13— 

Terrence Farrelly, her guardian, near the Post of Arkan- 
sas. Soon after this he erected a handsome dwelling in 
Little Rock, in which he and his family lived until after 
the close of the Civil War. * 

In 1831, he published "Hymns to the Gods," which 
were republished, with additions, in Blackivood's Maga- 
zine for June, 1839. Professor Wilson (Christopher 
North) appended to them a very complimentary notice, 
wherein he said, among other things: " These fine hymns 
entitle their author to take his place in the highest order 
of his country's poets." Professor Wilson also said of 
him to Dr. Shelton Mackenzie: " His massive genius marked 
him out to be the poet of the Titans." In 1834, he pub- 
lished "Prose Sketches and Poems"; "Ariel" appeared in 
1834 or 1835; in 1836 appeared the "Ode to the Mock- 
ing Bird," which was republished in Blachvood^s for 
March, 1840. From time to time other detached poems 
appeared in various publications and were always warmly 
welcomed by the readers. Finally, in 1854, he printed a 
collection of his poems, entitled "Nugae," but only for 
distribution among his friends. 

In 1836, he was employed to supervise the publica- 
tion of the Revised Statutes of Arkansas, which he did 
with great credit. 

In the spring of 1835, he bought the Advocate of 
Charles P. Bertrand, and soon afterwards entered into a 
partnership in the law with William Cummins, which 
continued for several years. He owned the Advocate, and 
was editor and typesetter, and generally useful in the 
office, for two years or more, and then sold it. He was 
his own teacher in the law; soon began to get together a 
law library, and in 1839 began to purchase other books 



—14— 

and to read them, never sleeping more than five or six 
hours, which was indeed his rule for more than forty 
years. In 1840, he was elected attorney of the Real 
Estate Bank, and in 1842, one of the trustees, holding the 
two offices in succession during some twelve years, one 
year of which he was in the military service of the United 
States, commanding a squadron in Mexico, in the regiment 
of Archibald Yell. 

In 1846, he raised a squadron of cavalry which he 
commanded with the rank of captain, and served in 
Mexico with distinction, having received special mention 
from Generals Taylor and Wool. Here he met Major 
Robert E. Lee, afterwards Commanding General of the 
Confederate Army, with whom he corresponded for a 
while after the Mexican War. 

Shortly after the close of that war there appeared in 
the columns of a Little Rock newspaper an article written 
by him, severely criticising the conduct of a part of the 
Arkansas regiment at the battle of Buena Vista, of which 
regiment John Seldeu Roane was Lieutenant- Colonel. 
The latter considered these criticisms as reflecting upon 
him personally, and immediately sent a challenge to Cap- 
tain Pike. This was promptly accepted, and the meeting 
took place on the sandbar opposite Fort Smith, in the In- 
dian Territory. 

In the Arkansas Gazette of April 2, 1893, appeared 
a very interesting article from the pen of Dr. James A. 
Dibrell, Sr., of Van Buren, giving the particulars of the 
aforesaid duel. Dr. Dibrell wrote: 

" On the bar opposite Fort Smith, Albert Pike as 
principal, with Luther Chase and John Drennen as sec- 
onds, and the writer as surgeon, accompanied by Pat. Far- 



—15— 

relly and Wm. H. Cousin and Dr. R. Thruston as friends 
on one side, and John S. Roane as principal, with Henry 
M. Rector and R. W. Johnson as seconds, and Dr. Philip 
Burton as surgeon, met in mortal combat to decide a con- 
troversy by the code d'honneur, so falsely called. Pike, 
to the best of my recollection, was the challenging party, 
at least, was so considered on my side of the ground. 
At call, both parties promptly stepped forward, distance 
ten paces, when duelling pistols were loaded and placed 
in their hands. Both stood firm and determined, neither 
displaying the least agitation. Pike was enjoying a cigar 
during the firing. At the word, both parties fired, but 
neither was wounded. A second fire was had, with the 
same result. Some one has said that Pike's beard was 
touched; if so, I have no recollection of it. After the 
second fire, Pike and myself were sitting on a cottonwood 
log on the edge of a forest that fringed the bar, when 
Dr. Burton was seen approaching us, with his usual slow 
and dignified step, and when within a few paces of us, 
beckoned to me to meet him. I did so. He remarked: 
'Dibrell, it 's a d — d shame that these men should stand 
here and shoot at each other until one or the other is 
killed or wounded. They have shown themselves to be 
brave men and would fire all day unless prevented. The 
seconds on neither side can interfere, because it would be 
considered a great disparagement for either to make a 
proposition for cessation of hostilities. So, let us, as sur- 
geons, assume the responsibility and say they shall not 
fire another time ; that unless they do as we desire we will 
leave the field to them helpless, however cruel it might 
seem.' 

"I replied that I knew nothing about the code, but 



—16— 

would consult my principal. I stated Dr. Burton's prop- 
osition word for word as made to me. Pike remarked, 
'I want one more fire at him and will hit him in a vital 
part; I believe he has^tried to kill me; I have not tried to 
hit him.' 

"After reflection, he said: 'Do as you think proper 
about it, but do not by anything compromise my honor.' " 

The good offices of Drs. Dibrell and Burton in the 
interest of peace and humanity were so eifective that the 
matter ended honorably to both parties. 

As soon as he was admitted to the bar, he made a 
reputation as a lawyer; practiced with eclat in the courts 
of the state, and in the district and circuit courts of the 
United States at Little Rock; then entered upon a wider 
field, and was admitted to the bar of the Supreme Court of 
the United States in 1849, where later a high eulogy was 
passed upon him by Daniel Webster, one of his auditors. 
Abraham Lincoln and Hannibal Hamlin were admitted to 
the bar of that court at the same time that Albert Pike 
was. He practiced before that court with much distinc- 
tion until the beginning of the war between the states, 
and won manj^ cases, including some for the Creek In- 
dians, some for the Choctaws, and a few for the Cherokees. 

In 1847, Albert Pike threw out the first suggestion 
of a Pacific railroad, which should be the Southern Paci- 
fic. He says in his autobiography: " Permit me to add, 
what was long ago forgotten, that I was the first proposer 
of a Pacific railroad convention. At my suggestion the 
legislature of Arkansas invited the southern states to send 
delegates to Memphis to form such a convention, and it 
was held accordingly. I could not attend it, and William 
M. McPherson, of Chicot County (afterwards of St. Louis) 



—17— 

was sent as a delegate, I and others paj'ing his expenses. 
The next year another was held there, which I attended, 
and then followed others at Charleston, New Orleans and 
Savannah, at which I was present, representing Louisiana 
at Savannah, where I opposed a resolution offered in favor 
of a renewal of the slave trade, and afterward declined to 
attend the one at Knoxville, because that subject had been 
agitated, and the resolution was likely to be offered again. 
After that at Charleston, I went to Baton Rouge; was in- 
vited to address the legislature, and did so, and obtained 
the passage of a charter for a Pacific railroad, with ter- 
mini on the Pacific at San Francisco and Guaymas." 

He says further in his autobiography: " In 1851 or 
1852 I determined to exchange the practice in Arkansas 
for that in Louisiana, and proceeded to purchase the Pan- 
dects and the civil law books, Latin and French, and to 
study them; my first necessity being to learn both lan- 
guages over again, for in twenty years' disuse I had 
become unable to read either. I was then in partnership 
with Ebenezer Cummins, and this partnership ceased in 
1853, when I transferred my office to New Orleans and 
formed a partnership with Logan Hunton. It was 
required then that an applicant for admission to the bar of 
the supreme court should be first examined by a commit- 
tee, and then in open court. In the former, the examina- 
tion in regard to the civil law consisted of the one ques- 
tion, put by the venerable old French jurist (I cannot 
recollect his name ) , who was the representative of that law 
on the committee: 'What works have you read on the 
Roman lawf I answered: 'I have read the Pandects and 
made a translation into English in writing of the first 
book.' He was perfectly satisfied with this, and it was 



—18— 

true. I had also read the twenty -two volumes of Duran- 
ton, several volumes of Pothier, the five volumes of Mar- 
cade (the highest authority of all — higher thau all the 
courts of France, aud, out of sight, the most admirable of 
all writers on the law), and other works. 

" I may add here that I never lost my fondness for 
the Roman law; and that after I came to Washington in 
1868, to reside, I commenced, and with the labor of some 
years completed a work concerning all the maxims of the 
Roman and French law, with the comments upon them of 
the French courts and text -writers, and of the Pandects. 
It would make three volumes of goodly size; but it re- 
mains, with other unpublished works of mine, in the 
library of the supreme council. 

" The examination in open court was waived, Mr. Chief 
Justice Slidell saying: ' The court is well advised in 
regard to the legal examination of Mr. Pike, and knows it 
to be unnecessary to examine him,' and so I was sworn 
and admitted. I have had but three compliments paid me 
that I valued more. One was in 1844, when going to the 
Pavilion at Louisville to listen to Whig speeches that were 
to be made there, not thinking of being known by any 
one, Ben. P. Gaines, of Chicot, began calling for me, and 
I had to speak, and the ladies sent me scarfs and a ring. 
One at Charleston (in 1835) at the Commercial Conven- 
tion, when I carried, against strong opponents, the reso- 
lutions that I offered in regard to a Pacific railroad. And 
the third was in Washington, about 1856, when 
Major John F. Lee, Judge Advocate -General (whom some 
in Little Rock may recollect as in 1840, and before and 
after, in charge of the Arsenal there), introduced me to 
General Scott, who said: ' Captain Pike ! Oh, we don't 



—19— 

consider him as being any better than one of ourselves.' 

" I was engaged in the practice in New Orleans three 
seasons; bnt then abandoned it, because Indian claims, 
which I was prosecuting, compelled me to be in Washing- 
ton the whole of the winters of 1855 and 1856, and pre- 
vented my attending the courts in New Orleans during 
the larger part of each season. I therefore resumed my 
practice in Arkansas in 1857." 

He became an Odd Fellow some time in the forties. In 
1850, he entered the Masonic Fraternity; after that, grad- 
ually ceased to be active as an Odd Fellow. He soon 
became prominent in Masonry, and rapidly advanced to 
the highest honors. His Masonic record is as follows: 

He was initiated in Western Star Lodge, at Little 
Rock, Arkansas, in 1850. 

He was raised to the degree of Worshipful Master 
in Western Star Lodge No. 1, Little Rock, Arkansas, in 
July, 1850. 

He became a charter member of Magnolia Lodge No. 
60, Little Rock, Arkansas, at its formation; was Worship- 
ful Master in 1853; held membership in that lodge at the 
time of his death, having been made Worshipful Master 
ad vitam. 

He was exalted in Union Chapter No. 2, R. A. M., 
in Little Rock, Arkansas, in November, 1850. 

He was greeted as a Royal and Select Master, at 
Washington, D. C, December 22, 1852. 

He was created a Knight Templar, February 9, 
1853, in Washington Commandery No. 1, K. T., in 
Washington, D. C. 

He was elected Grand High Priest of the Grand 
Chapter of Arkansas, in 1853, and so continued until 



—20— 

1856, in which year he met Brother Theodore S. Parvin, 
of Iowa, in Hartford, Connecticut. 

He received the degrees of the Ancient and Accepted 
Scottish Rite from the 4th to the 32d, inclusive, March 
20, 1853. Was coroneted Honorary Inspector -Gen- 
eral, April 25, 1857, and was crowned an Active Mem- 
ber of the Supreme Council, Southern Jurisdiction, March 
20, 1858, at Charleston, South Carolina; and on the resig- 
nation of Brother John Henry Honour as Grand Com- 
mander, was elected M. P. Sovereign Grand Commander 
of the Supreme Council for the Southern Jurisdiction of 
the United States, January 2, 1859. 

I will state here what he told me himself, that Sover- 
eign Grand Commander Honour, his predecessor, resigned 
that office expressly that he might be elected Sovereign 
Grand Commander: an action most honorable indeed in 
Mr. Honour, and a just matter of pride to the subject of 
this sketch. 

Upon the instituting of the Provincial Grand Lodge 
for the United States of America of the Royal Order of 
Scotland, Sir and General Albert Pike was named in the 
warrant from Edinburgh, Scotland, bearing date October 
4, 1877, as the Provincial Grand Master ad vitam. 

He was an honorary member of the Supreme Coun- 
cils of the Northern Jurisdiction of the United States, 
England and Wales, Scotland, Ireland, France, Belgium, 
Italy, Greece, Hungary, Mexico, Brazil, Egypt, Tunis, 
Peru, Canada, Colon, Nueva Granada, and Honorary 
Grand Master and Grand Commander of the Supreme 
Councils of Brazil, Tunis and Egypt. 

In 1859, the "Statutes and Regulations, Institutes, 
Laws, and Grand Constitutions of the Ancient and Ac- 
cepted Scottish Rite; Compiled with Notes, from Authentic 



—21— 

Documents, for the Use of the Order (French and Eng- 
lish), by Albert Pike, 33°, M. P. Sovereign Grand Com- 
mander of the Supreme Council for the Southern Jurisdic- 
tion of the United States," were published. 

Through a mistake, he was reported as dead in De- 
cember, 1859, which caused much distress to his family 
and friends. He had the opportunity, not often enjoyed 
by any one, of reading the eulogies and laments written 
upon his supposed death. In January, 1859, the "deeply 
lamented" appeared in Washington in life and health, to 
the great delight of his friends, who celebrated his return 
from Hades by a social festival entitled, "The Life -Wake 
of the Fine Arkansas Gentleman Who Died Before His 
Time." This was duly recorded in an exquisite volume 
printed in August, 1859. 

In that same year he succeeded in obtaining the 
award of the Senate of the United States in what is 
known as the Choctaw Net Proceeds Claim, for which he 
was to have been paid a very large fee; but, with the 
exception of a small portion received in March, 1861, he 
never to the day of his death derived any benefit from it. 

In 1861, when Arkansas severed her connection with 
the Union, he cast in his lot with her and with the Con- 
federacy, and was foremost in that cause; was made a 
Brigadier General and placed in command of the Indian 
Territory. Against his earnest protests, the Indian regi- 
ments were ordered from the Indian Territory into Arkan- 
sas, and took part in some skirmishes and one battle 
under his command. This battle was fought contrary to 
his judgment and against his advice, and terminated dis- 
astrously for the Confederates; this was the battle called 
by them "Elk Horn." 



—22— 

Early in the Civil War, as Confederate Commis- 
sioner to the Indians, he made treaties of amity and alli- 
ance, not onlj^ with the civilized tribes, but with the Co- 
manches. Apaches, Kiowas, Kickapoos, and another wild 
tribe. These treaties were the first that had ever been 
made with those wild tribes. 

Tired of being commanded by men of inferior intel- 
lect and of being treated with injustice, he resigned from 
the Confederate Army. He was then for a time on the 
bench of the Supreme Court of Arkansas, and it is said 
by John Hallum, in his "History of Arkansas," that, 
"The few opinions he delivered are luminous expositions 
of law." 

Immediately after the close of the Civil War he went 
to Canada for a short time, then returned to this country 
and settled in Memphis, Tennessee, for about two years. 
He practiced law there and was editor-in-chief of the 
Memphis Appeal at the same time; was also president of 
the bar association. In 1868, he removed to Washington 
City, where he remained until his death, except for a short 
period of time, when he lived in Alexandria, Virginia. 
During the years 1868, 1869 and 1870, he was associate 
editor of the Patriot, a Democratic newspaper published in 
Washington City; and some of his best editorials were 
contained in that paper. 

Of his children, two or three died infants; one son, a 
beautiful boy, was drowned in the Arkansas River in 1858; 
another son, a young man of the greatest promise, was 
killed during the Civil War; and his eldest daughter, 
lovely in person and in disposition, died in 1869. This 
left but three children, two sons and a daughter, who all 
lived with him until 1876, when the sons (one of whom 



—23— 

was married) made a home for themselves, aud only the 
daughter, Liliau, remained with her father, and was with 
him almost constantly until his death. 

This occurred on the 2d day of April, 1891, at 8 
o'clock in the evening. He had suffered greatly for many 
months, and was reduced almost to a shadow; but his 
mind remained clear, and he was occupied with thoughts 
of those he loved up to the very last day of his life. His 
death was perfectly peaceful: the sufferings which had so 
distressed his children and friends had ceased; and from 
moment to moment the change was so slight, the extinc- 
tion of the vital flame so gradual, that it was scarcely per- 
ceptible when the last breath was drawn and his great 
spirit returned to God. 

He had relinquished the active practice of the law 
about 1879, and after that appeared in the courts only by 
his briefs and pleadings in writing. He had been a fine 
Greek and Latin scholar, and had taught himself many 
languages and a great number of dialects; among them 
were Sanskrit, Hebrew, old Samaritan, Chaldean and Per- 
sian. From these he was led on to a study of the Parsee 
and Hindoo beliefs and traditions, and of the Rig -Veda 
and the Zend-Avesta, and finally became absorbed in these 
and in Masonry, to the exclusion of nearly everything else. 
He left fifteen large manuscript volumes of translations 
and commentaries of these great Aryan writings. 

He was the most eminent Mason in the world, not 
solel}' by virtue of his position in the order, but by his 
scholarlj^ attainments, his admirable treatises on Masonic 
Law and Symbolism, his profound knowledge of state- 
craft, theology and ethnology, his broad and comprehen- 
sive grasp of every subject, aud the even balance of his 



—24— 

judgment. These great qualities enabled him to build up 
the Scottish Rite, and to make the Supreme Council for 
the Southern Jurisdiction the most influential body of the 
Rite, and himself to be constituted the arbiter and judge 
in all questions that concerned the Supreme Councils of 
the world. 

Hallum calls him "the Homer of America; the Zoro- 
aster of modern Asia, a profound philosopher, a great 
jurist, a great philologist, a profound ethnologist, and a 
great statesman; and without doubt or rival, the greatest 
of American poets." 

In the appropriate words of Colonel P. Donan, de- 
livered at Fargo, Dakota, April 9, 1891, before the Lodge 
of Sorrow, held by the members of the Scottish Rite in 
that city, in memory of the deceased Grand Commander: 

"Albert Pike was a king among men by the divine 
right of merit. A giant in body, in brain, in heart and 
in soul. So majestic in appearance that wherever he 
moved on highway or byway, the wide world over, every 
passer-by turned to gaze upon him and admire him. Six 
feet two inches tall, with the proportions of a Hercules 
and the grace of an Apollo. A face and head massive 
and leonine, recalling in every feature some sculptor's 
dream of a Grecian god; while his long wavy hair, flow- 
ing down over his shoulders, added a strikingly pictur- 
esque effect. The whole expression of his countenance 
telling of power, combined with gentleness, refinement 
and benevolence. 

' ' He was the author of more than twenty volumes of 
Masonic literature, besides the volumes of prose and poetry 
that gave him general fame. His legal practice brought 
him several fortunes, one fee some years ago amounting 



—25— 

to $100,000. But his ear and heart and purse were ever 
open to the appeal of the needy or distressed, and his 
benefactions were beyond all enumeration. His bounty 
was reckless in its lavishness. In all the rush of his busy 
and eventful career he found time to counsel and assist 
every worthy man or woman who came to him. He was 
peculiarly kind and considerate toward young people. 

" Glorious record of a glorious man! Great enough 
to succeed in nearly every line of human effort and ambi- 
tion. A patient and faithful teacher, a brilliant editor, a 
lawyer of eminent ability and skill, an eloquent and im- 
passioned orator, a gallant soldier, a profound scholar, a 
poet whose verses tingle with the true Promethean fire 
that comes from heaven alone, a prolific author, a wise 
counselor, a patriot, and a philanthropist whose charity 
was broad enough to take in all mankind. God never 
made a gentler gentleman, a better citizen, or a truer man! 
He was in himself the highest and grandest embodiment 
of the virtues and graces of Free Masonry, a living ex- 
emplification of the exalted and exalting principles of your 
great world -embracing brotherhood. He ran the whole 
gamut of earthly usefulness and earthly honors. He 
climbed Fame's glittering ladder to its loftiest height, and 
stepped from its topmost round into the skies. He died, 
'with a sweet and placid smile upon his face,' amid his 
books and pictures, his birds and flowers, with a full faith 
in a glorious immortality. The world is his mausoleum, 
and all mankind his mourners. 

" His death is a loss and a grief to Masons, and to 
men not Masons, in every part of our country, and 
throughout Christendom. But to such a man himself, — a 
Christian man, exemplifying Christianity in deeds of 

3-P 



—26— 

'faith, hope, and charity,' through nearlj^ three genera- 
tions of men, — faithful in the discharge of every duty to 
his family, his neighbors, his country, his God and hu- 
manity, — what we call Death is not death, but the glad 
beginning of Life." 

He wrote but little poetry during the last twenty 
years of his life; the griefs, the disappointments, the cark- 
ing cares and burdens under which he labored, seemed, like 
rank weeds, to choke out the fine flowers of poesy. It 
was during this period, however, that he wrote his best 
known, and undoubtedly his most popular, poem, " Every 
Year;" of this, he wrote two versions, and destroyed as 
far as he could all copies of the first version as soon as he 
had written the last and best one. 

His prose writings are by some more admired than 
his poetical works; they evince such depth of thought, 
such grandeur of imagery, such force and harmony of ex- 
pression. Judge Jeremiah Black, a most admirable writer 
of English himself, said that "Albert Pike is one of the 
greatest masters of the English language." To those who 
have not read his prose writings, they would be a revela- 
tion; they remind one of the writings of Bourdaloue, of 
Massillon, and of some of the old Latin writers; he writes 
as no one else writes, and yet he says the very things 
every one feels ought to be said and in the way thej^ ought 
to be said. 

Among his prose writings are the Rituals of the Ma- 
sonic Degrees from the 4th to the 33d, inclusive, which 
were rewritten entirely, or almost entirely, by him; 
"Words Spoken of the Dead;" his Allocutions as Grand 
Commander; his Allocutions as Provincial Grand Master 
of the Royal Order of Scotland; the Rituals of Consecra- 



—27— 

tion, of Installation, of Lodges of Sorrow, and of other 
Masonic ceremonials; innumerable addresses and lectures 
on Symbolism and kindred Masonic subjects; "Morals and 
Dogma," written specially, but not exclusively, for Ma- 
sons; his editorials in the various papers with which he 
had been connected; and a few political writings, which 
are marvelous in their foresight, their knowledge of hu- 
manity and the mainsprings of human conduct, their 
statesmanship, patriotism, grandeur of scope, and breadth 
of view. Besides these, he wrote many essays, transla- 
tions and compilations which have never been printed. 

Some of his prose writings are as truly poems as if 
they had been divided into lines and stanzas, and scanned 
according to rule and measure; witness the following: 

"Death is the inexorable creditor, whose indulgence 
nothing in the world can purchase. Every moment that 
sees a newborn child laugh at the light sees also a man 
die, and hears the cry of a breaking heart, and the lamen- 
tations of those who sit lonely and in the desolation of 
affliction, no longer seeing the faces of dearly loved ones. 
Round the little island of our being, on which we follow 
our various pursuits of toil or craft, of usefulness or mis- 
chief, throbs the illimitable ocean of eternity, upon which, 
round the isle, a broad circle of impenetrable darkness 
brooding lies. But beyond that zone the outer ocean 
sparkles, and its white -crested waves dance in the light, 
and somewhere in the distance the islands of the blessed 
are dreaming, girdled by the peaceful waters. Here, in 
our present home, we live our little life, waiting to be 
called to other duties elsewhere, and one by one our loved 
ones and our cherished friends glide away from us unseen, 
and are swallowed up in the darkness which is the shadow 



—28— 

of the broad wings of Death. Each of iis belongs to some 
little colony of hearts that hath a life of its own, its pri- 
vate and inner life, apart from that of the mass of human- 
ity which eddies round it in endless agitations, having 
with it no sympathies, nor any memories of association. 
When one of its members dies, it is as if a limb were 
severed from the body. The wound heals, but the limb 
is missed as long as the body lives. 

"Stand by the sapling for a lifetime, if you will, and 
watch it with a steady eye from morn till dewy eve, and 
you do not see it grow, or hear the unseen forces that are 
at work within it; and yet the air is feeding it, and the 
great earth and the liberal sun; and quietly it doth grow, 
with a calm indifference to praise or censure, and an utter 
disregard of public opinion, doing what God hath ap- 
pointed for it. No, you do not see it grow, stand and 
watch as long as you may; but go you away, and remain 
a few short years, and lo! a noble tree, towering, a 
crowned monarch, above the patricians of the forest, 
stretching his large arms out with wide circumference, and 
covering acres with the thick shadow of his green foliage ; 
a tree fit to furnish timbers for a ship to bear our coun- 
try's free flag proudly round the world, and speak the Great 
Republic's will in the thunder of her guns." 1849. 

" In short, I rather incline to think that Providence 
has something to do with the fates and fortune of this 
great nation, and that its orderings in this matter, as in 
all others, are wise and good." 

"To my limited vision, as to yours, the system may 
appear unjust, as do all the sorrow and distress and 
calamity on earth. But we must become Atheists if we 
do not believe that He is just and wise, and that in all 



—29— 

the great phenomena of the universe He is working out a 
vast and beneficent purpose. The history of the world is 
full of evidences of this great truth." 

" The children of Israel were slaves in Egypt for more 
than four hundred years. No doubt they often murmured 
against the justice of God, and thought that the day of 
their deliverance was unnecessarily delayed. God saw fit 
not to break their chains until Moses had been adopted by 
the daughter of Pharaoh, and educated in all the learning 
of the Egyptians; nor even then, until, after remaining 
forty years in the desert, he had attained the age of eighty 
years. Then he led forth the Israelites, and gave them 
laws and a religion. And of that race, so delivered, came 
the Redeemer, and that faith which, preached by Him in 
Galilee, has civilized Europe and America, built up our 
free institutions, and given to human nature new dig- 
nity, and to the human intellect new powers." 1852. 

Let these words of his speak more eloquently than 
any feeble tribute of mine; and may they sink into the 
hearts of all those who read what has here been written . 

Lilian Pike Roome. 

Washington, D. C, November 15, 1899. 



Albert Pike's Poems 



EVERY YEAR. 



Life is a count of losses, 

Every year; 
For the weak are heavier crosses, 

Every year; 
Lost Springs with sobs replying 
Unto weary Autumn's sighing, 
While those we love are dying, 

Every year. 

It is growing darker, colder, 

Every year; 
As the heart and soul grow older. 

Every year; 
I care not now for dancing. 
Or for eyes with passion glancing, 
Love is less and less entrancing. 

Every year. 

The days have less of gladness. 

Every year; 
The nights more weight of sadness, 

Every year; 



—32— 

Fair Springs no longer charm us, 
The winds and weather harm us, 
The threats of Death alarm us, 
Every year. 

There come new cares and sorrows, 

Every year; 
Dark days and darker morrows, 

Every year; 
The ghosts of dead loves haunt us. 
The ghosts of changed friends taunt us, 
And disappointments daunt us. 

Every year. 

Of the loves and sorrows blended, 

Every year; 
Of the charms of friendship ended, 

Every year; 
Of the ties that still might bind me. 
Until Time to Death resigned me. 
My infirmities remind me. 

Every year. 

Ah! how sad to look before us. 

Every year; 
While the cloud grows darker o'er us, 

Every year; 



/ 



—33— 

When we see the blossoms faded, 
That to bloom we might have aided, 
And immortal garlands braided, 
Every year. 

To the Past go more dead faces, 

Every year; 
As the loved leave vacant places. 

Every year; 
Everywhere the sad eyes meet us. 
In the evening's dusk they greet us, 
And to come to them entreat us, 

Every year. 

" You are growing old," they tell us, 

' ' Every year ; 
" You are more alone," they tell us, 

" Every year; 
" You can win no new affection, 
" You have only recollection, 
" Deeper sorrow and dejection, 

" Every year." 

The shores of life are shifting, 

Every year; 
And we are seaward drifting, 

Every year; 



—34— 

Old places, changing, fret us. 
The living more forget us, 
There are fewer to regret us. 
Every year. 

But the truer life draws nigher. 

Every year; 
And its Morning star climbs higher, 

Every year; 
Earth's hold on us grows slighter. 
And the heavy burden lighter, 
And the Dawn Immortal brighter. 

Every year. 



Hymns to the Gods. 

No. 1. 
TO HERA. 

I. 

Mother of Gods! devoutly we incline 

Our willing knees before thy holy shrine, 

Where Imbrasus runs seaward, strong and swift, 

Through the green plains of Samos. Lo! we lift 

Gladly to thee our many-voiced strain, 

Sung never to thy Majesty in vain. 

The day wears on; the expanding sun stoops low; 

While, in the east, thy Messenger's bent bow 

Gladdens the eyes of eager worshippers. 

A soft, sweet wind thy garlands lightly stirs, 

Where thy loved flowers, dear Queen of Heaven, Divine! 

White lillies with the dittany entwine. 

And the gay poppy. Wilt thou deign to hear 

Our solemn chant — loud, earnest, and sincere — 

And grant our prayer! Come from Olympus down, 

In regal glory, with thy starry crown, 

And sceptre flashing with great gems, whereon 

Thy cuckoo broods! Let not the reluctant sun 

Dip in the sea, before our glad eyes greet 

The distant glitter of thy snowy feet. 



—36— 

Sandaled with ivory, 
That shame the fairest of our green isle's daughters, 

And flash upon the undulating sea. 
Like rays of star-light on a blue meer's slumbering 

waters ! 

II. 

Power, Empire, Virtue, — these are thy gift; 

Inspired by thee, low men their eyes uplift. 

As hawks to the sun, and aim at high estate, 

And reach it; while the mighty and the great. 

Toppling like towers, fall headlong. By thee urged, 

Men in the sloughs of wretchedness immerged 

Arm them anew with courage resolute. 

Bear pain and evil with endurance mute. 

And grow divine in virtuous fortitude. 

Woman, by thee with constancy endued. 

In ill report and evil fortune clings 

More closely to her husband's side, and brings 

Her lovely patience ever to his aid 

In the world's fierce trials. Power and Empire fade 

And are dissolved like a thin April cloud; 

But Virtue is immortal. Men have bowed 

A thousand years before thy lofty shrines, 

Clamoring for Power; but rarely one inclines, 

In prayer for Virtue, Truth and Constancy, 

Before thine altars the obsequious knee. 



—37— 

We, prostrate at thy feet, 

Of these— the only true and priceless treasure- 
Do humbly and beseechingly entreat 

Thy Majesty benign to grant us ample measure. 

III. 

Where tarriest thou, Cithseronaea, now?— 

Perhaps, upon some mountain's regal brow— 

Cyllene or Oromedon — reclined, 

No cares of state disturbing thy great mind. 

Thou gazest on our lovely Grecian isles. 

Along whose shores the tranquil ocean smiles 

Serene as thou: around thee hoary firs 

Swing their tall heads, and many an old beech stirs. 

And, dreaming, murmurs, and the grave oaks spread 

Their leafy limbs; and, watching overhead, 

Thy kingly hawk, scarce moving his wide wings. 

Rocked by the mountain -breezes, idly swings: 

Perhaps in some secluded, shady nook, 

On the green margin of a happy brook, 

Lulled by its music into tranquil sleep. 

While thy young Nymphs demurely round thee keep 

Their patient vigil. , In whatever spot 

Of rarest beauty,— cave, lawn, dell, or grot. 

Cool glade, deep vale, or silver -sanded shore, 

Or river-bank shaded with sycamore,— 



—38— 

Hearken, oh, lovely Queen! 
To the loud echo of our plaintive voices: 

Approach us while the laughing Earth is green, 
And the young Spring in buds and golden flowers rejoices. 

IV. 

Oh, Queen! beloved of all the laughing Hours, 

Let snowy -shouldered Hebe, crowned with flowers, 

Before the rising of the evening-star. 

Harness the peacocks to thy jewelled car: 

Leave, for a time, the mighty Thunderer's side. 

And thy swift birds let dextrous Iris guide 

To our fair shore. Stay not thy flashing wheels 

On the dark Euxine, ploughed with many keels, 

Or where the vexed Propontis hoarsely swells; 

In Cos, or Naxos, or the Arcadian dells; 

Come, Heaven's wonder! come to our island, first; 

Where thou wast born, and by the Seasons nursed! 

By those sweet hours when all thy virgin charms 

Were first encircled by Jove's mighty arms, — 

When thy large eyes, magnificently bright. 

Looked into his with soft and loving light. 

And, on his breast hiding thy blushing face, 

Thou hadst no peer in loveliness and grace, — 

By those sweet hours, come! while the sun yet slides 

Down the sky's slant, and bless these innocent brides. 



—39— 

Who watch the western sky, 
Their breasts with fear and rapture palpitating: ' 

Come! thou, who must their virgin zones untie. 
Lest they, despairing, weep, and faint with longer waiting. 
1845. 



No. 2. 
TO POSEIDON. 



I. 

God of the mighty deep! wherever now 

The waves beneath thy brazen axles bow; 

Whether thy strong, proud steeds, wind- winged and wild, 

Trample the storm -vexed waters round them piled. 

Swift as the lightning -flashes that reveal 

The quick gyrations of each massive wheel, — 

While round and under thee, with hideous roar. 

The broad Atlantic, with thy scourging sore. 

Thundering like antique Chaos in his spasms. 

In heaving mountains and deep -yawning chasms. 

Fluctuates endlessly; while through the gloom. 

Their glossy sides and thick manes flecked with foam. 

Career thy coursers, neighing with mad glee. 

In fierce response to the tumultuous sea: — 



—40— 

Whether thej- tread the souuding sands below, 

Among wrecked ships, where the green sea- plants grow, 

Broad-leaved, and sighing with eternal motion 

Over the pale, cold tenants of the ocean: 

Oh, come! our lofty altars for thee stand, 

Smoking with incense, on the level strand. 

11. 

Perhaps with loose rein now thy horses roam 

Over the Adriatic. No salt foam 

Stains their fine limbs, but softly, leisurely, 

They tread with silver feet that still, calm sea, 

Fanning the waters with their floating manes, 

That gleam like mist in sunshine; while shrill strains 

From clamorous trumpets round thy chariot ring, 

And green-robed sea-gods praising thee, their king, 

Chaunt loudly; while Apollo bends his gaze 

Lovingly on thee, and his soft, clear rays 

Tame thy wild coursers' eyes. The air feels warm 

On the sea's forehead, where the cold, harsh storm 

So lately thundered, and the rebel winds 

That ^olus in cave and den now binds, 

Beat their broad wings. Perhaps long leagues below 

Thou sleepest in green caves, where sea -flowers glow 

Brighter than sapphires: many a monster cumbers 

The sand around thee; aged Triton slumbers 



—41— 

Care-free and still; and glad, sweet, bright eyes peep 
From many a nook, watching thy dreamless sleep. 

III. 

Perhaps thou art resting on some Indian isle. 
Under a broad, thick tree, where, many a mile. 
Stretches a sunny shore, with golden sands, 
Piled in fantastic shapes by Naiads' hands; 
Where the small waves come coyly, one by one, 
And curl upon the beach, like molten gold. 
Thick -set with jewellery, rare and old. 
Sea -nymphs sit near, and with small delicate shells 
Make thee such melody, as in deep dells. 
Of a May -night, is by the Fairies made, 
When, frolicking within some sober shade. 
They sound their silver flutes, soft, faint, and sweet, 
In strange but exquisite tunes ;. and delicate feet 
Dance softly on the grass -blades gemmed with dew, 
That bend, not break: all wanton airs that blew 
So lately through the spice -trees, hover there, 
With overladen wings that loan to the air 
Wealth of perfume. Oh! wait thou not arise. 
And come with them to our new sacrifice? 
1829. 



—42— 

No. 3. 
TO DEMETER. 



Goddess of bounty! at whose spring-time call, 
When on the dewey earth thy first tones fall, 
And echo in its heart, each young green blade 
Springs, wondering, into life; the dull, gray glade 
Is liveried with new grass, — from each chill hole. 
Where they had nestled, dumb, and dull of soul, 
The glad birds come, and sing for joy to thee. 
Among the thronging leaves; and fast and free 
The rivers run, crushing their icy chains. 
Broken by thee and by thine April rains, 
Through green glad valleys: Thou who chiefly art 
The Goddess of all beauty, — thou whose heart 
Is ever in the sunny meads and fields, — 
To whom the laughing earth looks up, and yields 
Her choicest treasures: Thou, that in thy car. 
Drawn by winged dragons, when the morning star 
Sheds his cool light, dost touch the budding trees. 
And all their blossoms woo the trembling breeze; 

Oh! pour thy light 

Of truth and joy upon our souls to-night. 
And grant to us great plenty and sweet ease! 



—43— 

II. 

Benignant Goddess of the rustling corn! 

Thou to whom reapers sing, and on the lawn 

Bind up gigantic sheaves of full -eared wheat; 

While innocent maids, with little, dancing feet, 

Bring thee ga.y poppies, weave for thee a crown 

Of modest flowers, and gracefully bend down 

To garland thy full baskets; at whose side. 

Among the sheaves, young Bacchos loves to ride. 

With bright, clear, sparkling eyes, and feet and mouth 

All wine -stained in the glad and sunny south! 

Perhaps ye ride among the leafy vines, 

While round th}- neck one rosy arm he twines, 

And with the other hand still gathers up 

And presses the plump grapes, and holds the cup 

To thy loved lips, then throws aside the wine. 

And crowns thee with the green leaves of the vine, 

Kisses thy brow, thy mouth, thine eyes most bright 

With love and joy. If those dear eyes now light 

Some favored hill 

Of vine -clad Thrace, oh! come, while all is still. 
And with them bless the coming of this night! 

III. 

Lo! the small stars rise from the silver ocean, 
And wander up the sky. A sweet emotion 
Stirs the white bosoms of the thin, soft clouds; 
And the light mist, that the gray hills enshrouds. 



—44— 

Gleams like a rain of diamonds in the air. 
Lo! a soft blush of light is rising there, 
Like silver shining through a tint of red; 
And soon the queenly moon her love will shed 
Like pearl -mist on the islands and the sea, 
Which thou wilt cross to view our mystery. 
Lo! we have torches here for thee, and urns. 
Where incense with delicious odor burns. 
On altars piled with glowing fruit, as sweet 
And ripe as thy sweet lips; with yellow wheat, 
Flowers gathered while the Dawn lay half- asleep, 
And Indian spices: patiently we keep 
Our earnest watch for thee, bending before 
Thy waiting altars, till to our fair shore 

Thy chariot -wheels 

Shall roll, while Ocean to the burden reels. 

And utters to the skv a stifled roar. 

1830. 



No. 4. 
TO DIONUSOS./. 



Where art thou, Dionusos! On the hills 
Of some fair land afar, where sweet wine fills 
The clustered grapes, dost stain thy ripe lips red 
With rich old juice, that men long ages dead — 



—45— 

Thy votaries — pressed and bid? Dost thou hold up 

'Twixt thee and the suu thy jewel -cinctured cup, 

With luminous rubies brimmed? Or doth thy car, 

Lit by the blaze of the far northern star. 

Roll over Thracia's hills, while all around 

Shout thy mad bacchanals, and rings the sound 

Of merry revelry, and distant men 

Start at thy clamor? Or in some cool glen 

Reclinest thou, under dark ivy leaves, 

Idling the day off, while each mad Faun weaves 

Gay garlands for thee, sipping a great bowl 

Of stout, strong wine; and the dismaying roll 

Of thy all -conquering wheels no more is heard. 

But thy strong tigers, with no fierce dream stirred, 

Crouch at thy feet? 

lacchos! come to meet 
Thy worshippers, that here with merry word 
Of olden song thy godhead long to greet. 

II. 

Oh, thou who lovest pleasure! at whose heart 
Wine's warmth is always felt; who takest part 
In all mad, wanton mirth; who in the dance 
Of merry maidens joinest, where the glance 
Of bright black eyes, and twinkling of white feet, 
Of lovely girls delight thee, when they meet 



—46— 

Under the summer moon! — Giver of peace 

To all careworn, sad men! — whose smiles make cease 

The piercing pains of grief; for whom young maids 

Weave ivy garlands, and in pleasant glades 

'Hang up thine image, and, with happy looks. 

Go dancing round, while shepherds, with long crooks, 

Join the glad company, and glide about 

With merry laugh and many a hearty shout. 

Staining with rich dark grapes each little cheek 

That most they love; and then, with sudden freak, 

Seizing the willing hand, and dancing on 

About the green mound: — Oh, thou merry son 

Of supreme JOVE! 

Wherever thou dost rove. 
Among the thick vines, come, ere day is done, 
And let us too thy sunny influence prove. 

III. 

Where art thou, CONQUEROR!— before whom fell 
The jewelled kings of Ind, when the strong swell 
Of thy great multitudes came on them, and 
The mystic thursos in thy red right hand 
Was shaken over them, till every soul 
Grew faint, as smit with lightning; when the roll 
Of thy great chariot -wheels was on the neck 
Of mighty potentates; till thou didst check 



—47— 

Thy tigers and wild lyuxes on the shore 
Of the Indian sea, and still its angry roar 
With sparkling and delicious Grecian wine 
Poured on its waters, till the contented brine 
Gave forth new odors, and a pleasant scent 
Of rare perfume; and haggard men, all spent 
With long, sharp sickness, drank in life anew. 
When the rich sea-breeze through their lattice blew 
Bacchos! who tramplest Care with thy soft feet, 
Oh, hither turn thy tigers, strong and fleet, 

And light our happy isles 

With the radiance of thy smiles! 
Come, with thy hair dewy with wine, and meet 
Those who, for thee, have trod the weary miles. 

IV. 

Come to our ceremony! Lo, we rear 

An altar of green turf, the sea-beach near. 

And garland it with vine -shoots, and the leaf 

Of glossy ivy. Come! and chase all grief 

Far from us! Lo! upon the turf we pour 

Full cups of wine, till all along the shore 

Eddies the luscious odor. See! a mist 

Is rising from the wine-stained turf — (Ah, hist! — 

Alas! 'twas not his cry!) — Come with thy train 

Of riotous Satyrs, pouring forth a strain 



—48— 

Of utmost shrillness on the noisy pipe. 
Come, with thine eye and lip of beauty ripe 
And wondrous rare, and let us hear thy wheels 
Rolling along the hills, while twilight steals 
Quietly up, and dusky sober Night 
Is hindered from her star -track by the light 
Of thy wild tigers' eyes! Cross the calm sea 
With all thy mad and merry company! 

The stars shall wax and wane. 

And ere day comes again. 
We'll wander over hill and vale with thee, 
Sending afar a loudly joyous strain. 



No. 5. 



TO 'APHRODITE. 



Oh, thou most lovely and most beautiful! — 
Wherever cooingly thy white doves lull 
Thy bright eyes to soft slumber; whether on 
The truant south -wind floating, or if gone 
To some still cloud in dreamy sleep that swings. 
And there reclining, while its snowy wings 
Blush into crimson: whether thy delicate wheels. 
Over green sward that scarce the pressure feels, 



1829. 



—49— 

Brush the bright dewdrops from the bending grass, 
Leaving the poor, green blades to look, alas! 
With dim eyes at the moon, — (Ah! so dost thou 
Dim other eyes and brighter!) — whether now 
Thou floatest over the sea, while each white wing 
Of thy fair doves is wet, and sea-maids bring 
Sweet odours for thee,— (Ah! how foolish they! 

They have not felt thy smart, 
They know not, while in ocean -caves they play, 

How cruel and strong thou art!) 



II. 



Hear, 'Aphrodite! Hear our rustic song! 
Thalassia, hear! for unto thee belong 
All pleasant offerings; ring-doves coo to thee. 
While they entwine their arch'd necks lovingly. 
Among the murmuring leaves; thine are all sounds 
Of pleasure on the earth; and where abounds 
Most happiness, for thee we surely look.— 
In the dusk depths of some leaf -shaded nook 
Thou hidest frequently, where soft winds wave 
Thy sunny curls, and cool airs fondly lave 
Thy radiant brow, and ruffle the delicate wings 
Of thy tired doves; where his quaint love -tale sings. 



—50— 

With small, bright eyes, some little, strange, sweet bird. 
In notes that never but by thee are heard. — 
In some such spot dreaming thou liest now. 

And with half -open eye, 
Drinkest in beauty. Fairest of heaven, do thou 

Hear kindly our faint cry! 

m. 

Doris! from whom all things upon this earth 

Take light and life; for whom even laughing Mirth 

Doubles his glee; thou, whom the joyous bird 

Continually sings; whose name is heard 

In every pleasant noise; at whose warm glance 

All things look brighter; for whom wine doth dance 

More merrily within the agate vase. 

To meet thy lip; glimpsing at whose sweet face, 

Joy leaps on faster, with a clearer laugh, 

And Sorrow flings into the sea his staff. 

And tossing back the hair from his dim eyes. 

Looks up again to long -forgotten skies; 

While Avarice forgets to count his gold. 

And even offers thee his wealth untold, 

Dear as his heart's blood. Thou to whose high might 

All things are glad to bow, 
Come unto us, and with thy looks of light, 

Bless and console us now! 



—51— 
IV. 

Hear us, 'Ourauia! Thou whom all obey! 

At whose sweet will rough Satyrs leave their play, 

And gather wild -flowers to adorn the hair 

Of the young nymphs, and nuts and berries bear 

To those they fancy most. Paphia, to whom 

They leap in awkward mood through the dusk gloom 

Of darkening oak-trees, or at sunny noon 

Play unto thee, on their rude pipes, a tune 

Of wondrous languishment ! Thou , whose great power 

Brings up young sea-maids from each ocean-bower, 

With many an idle song to sing to thee. 

And bright locks floating mist -like on the sea. 

And glancing eyes, as if in distant caves 

They spied their lovers,— (so along blue waves 

Small bubbles flit, mocking the genial sun;)— 

Let cares no more oppress 
Thy servitors! but, ere our feast is done, 

Our new loves kindly bless! 

V. 

Oh, thou who once didst weep, and with sad tears 
Bedew the pitying woods! by those great fears 
That haunted thee when young Adonis lay 
With dark eyes drowned in death; — by that dull day 



—52— 

That saw him, wounded, fall, with many a moan. 
On the dead leaves, and sadly and alone 
Breathe out his life; — deign thou to look upon 
All maidens who for too great love grow wan 
And pity them! Come to us when Night brings 
Her first faint stars; and let us hear the wings 
Of thy most beautiful and bright -eyed doves. 
Fanning the breathless air. Let all the Loves 
Fly round thy chariot, with sweet, low songs 
Murmuring upon their lips. Come! each maid longs 
For thy fair presence. Goddess of true Love! 

Float through the odorous air. 
And, as thy light wheels roll, from us remove 

Sadness and love -sick care. 

VI. 

Lo! we have many kinds of incense here, 
To burn to thee; wine as the sunshine clear, 
Fit for young Bacchos; flowers we have here, too. 
Gathered by star-light, when the morning -dew 
Was fresh upon them; myrtle -wreaths we bear, 
To place upon thy bright, luxuriant hair. 
And shade thy temples. 'Tis the proper time 
For all fair beauty. Thou, who lovest the clime 
Of our dear isle, where roses bud and blow 
With honey in their bosoms, and a glow 



—53— 

Like thine own cheek, lifting their modest heads, 
To be refreshed with the transparent beads 
Of diamond dew, paling the young moon's rays,- 
Our altars burn for thee, and on the blaze! 
We pour rich incense from great golden vases. 

Queen Cypria! hear our words, 
And hither urge, circled with all the Graces, 

Thy team of snow -winged birds! 



No. 6. 
TO APOLLON. 



1829. 



Bright -haired Apollon! Thou that ever art 
A blessing to the world! whose generous heart 
Aye overflows with love and light and life! 
Thou, at whose glance all things on earth are rife 
With happiness! to whom, in early Spring, 
Flowers lift their heads, whether they laughing cling 
To the steep mountain's side, or in the vale 
Timidly nestle! Thou, to whom the pale 
Chill, weary Earth looks up, when Winter flees, 
With patient gaze, and the storm -shattered trees 



—54— 

Put forth fresh leaves, and drink deep draughts of light, 
Poured from thy brilliant orb ! Thou in whose bright, 
Coruscant rays, the eagle feeds his eye 
With flashing fire, and far, far up on high 
Screams out his haughty joy! By all the names 
And the high titles that thy Godhead claims, — 
Phoibos, or Clarios, golden -haired Apollo, 
Cunthios, or Puthios, — cease for a time to follow 

The fleeing Night, and hear 

Our h3"mn to thee, and smilingly draw near! 

II. 

Most exquisite poet! Thou, whose great heart's swell 

Pours itself out on mountain, lawn, and dell! 

Thou who dost touch them with thy golden feet. 

And make them for the Painter's use complete; 

Inspired by whom the Poet's eyes perceive 

Great beauty everywhere, — in the slow heave 

Of the unquiet sea, or in the roar 

Of its resounding waters, — on the shore 

Of pleasant streams, — in the dark, jagged rift 

Of savage mountains, where the black clouds drift. 

Flushed with swift lightning, — on the broad, dark brow 

Of silent Night, that solemnly and slow 

Walks up the sky. Oh, thou, whose influence 

Tinges all things with beauty, makes each sense 

Double delight, and clothes with a delicate grace 

All that is young and fair; while all the base 



DO 

Flits far, like darkness! — thou that art in truth 
Incarnate lordliness, hear! while our youth 

With earnest yearning cry; 

Answer our hymn, and come to us, Most High! 

III. 

In quaint disguise, with wondrous grace and fire. 

Often thou makest, on thy golden lyre, 

Exquisite music, on smooth, sunny glades, 

Where on the greensward dance the village maids. 

Their hair adorned with wild -flowers, or a wreath 

Of thine own laurel; while, reclined beneath 

Some ancient oak, thou smilest at these elves. 

As though thou wert all human like themselves. 

Sometimes thou playest in the darkening wood. 

While Fauns glide forth, in dance grotesque and rude. 

Flitting among the trees with awkward leap, 

Like their god. Pan; and from fir -thickets deep 

Come up the Satyrs, joining the mad crew. 

And capering for thy pleasure. From each yew. 

And beech, and oak, the wood-nymphs shyly peep. 

To see the revelry; and from its sleep 

The merry laughter wakes the startled wood, 

And music cheers its dusk, deep solitude. 

Oh, come, and let the sound 
Of thy sweet lyre eddy our isle around! 



—56— 

IV. 

Great Seer and Prophet! Thou that teachest men 

The deepest -hidden lore, and from his den 

Dost pluck the Future, so that he floats by 

In visible shape, apparent to the eye, 

But robed with visions: thou, in whose high power 

Are health and sickness: thou who oft dost shower 

Great plagues on impious nations, with hot breath 

Withering their souls, and raining sudden death 

Like fiery mist among them; or, again. 

Like the sweet breeze after a summer rain. 

That thrills the earth like love, thou sendest out 

Health, like a lovely child, that goes about. 

With soft, white feet, among the sick and weak, 

Kissing with rosy lip each poor pale cheek. 

Shaking perfume from its white wings, and through 

The shrivelled heart stirring the blood, anew 

To fill the abandoned veins. Oh, thou, whose name 

Is hymned by all, let us too dare to claim 

Thy holy presence here! 
Hear us, bright God, and lend a gracious ear! 

V. 

Hear us! Thou master of the springing bow. 
Who lovest in the gloom}^ woods to throw 
Thine arrows to the mark, like the keen flight 
Of those that fill the universe with light. 



—57— 

From the sun's quiver shot! From whom grim bears 

And lordly lions flee, timid as hares, 

To hide among safe mountains! Thou, whose cry 

Sounds in the autumn -woods, where whirl and fly 

The brown dry leaves, — when with his riotous train 

Bacchus is on the hills, and on the plain 

Full -armed Demeter; when upon the sea 

The brine -gods blow their shells, and laughingly 

The broad world rings with glee. Then thy clear voice 

Stills into silence every truant noise, 

Pealing with utmost sweetness on the hills, 

And in the echoes of the dancing rills. 

Over the sea and on the sounding plain. 

And eddying air, until all voices wane 

Before its influence: 
Draw near, great God, before the day goes hence! 

VI. 

By that most fatal day, when with a cry 

Young Huakinthos fell, and his dark eye 

Was dimmed with blood, — when, dying, on a bed 

Of his own flowers he laid his wounded head, 

Breathing great sighs; by those heart -cherished eyes 

Of long-loved Huakinthos, by the sighs 

That then, oh, young Apollon, thou didst pour 

On every gloomy hill and desolate shore, 

5-P 



—58— 

Weeping away thy soul, and making dull 
Thine eyes with eclipse, till the chilled earth was full 
Of sad forebodings, for thy radiance dimmed; 
Prayers by pale priests in many a fane were hymned 
To the pale -eyed Sun; the frightened Satyrs strayed 
Long in dark woods, and then to the chill glade 
Came to lament that thou wast still unkind; 
Artemis wept for love, and plained and pined 
For light and life: by that most fearful grief, 
Oh! bright Apollon, hear, and grant relief 

To us who cry to thee! 
And let us, ere we die, thy glory see! 

1829. 



No. 7. 
TO ARTEMIS. 



I. 

Most graceful Goddess! whether now thy feet 
Pursue the dun deer to their deep retreat 
In the heart of some old wood, or on the side 
Of some high mountain; where, most eager -eyed, 
Thou glidest on the chase, with bended bow. 
And arrow at the string, a wondrous glow 
Of exquisite beauty on thy cheek, and feet 



—59— 

White as the silver moon, graceful and fleet 
As her soft rays, — with quiver at thy back 
Rattling to all thy steppings. If some track 
In far-off Thessaly thou foUowest up, 
Brushing the dew from many a flower's full cup. 
With head bent forward, harking to the bay 
Of thy good hounds, while in the deep woods they, 
Strong- limbed and swift, leap on with eager bounds, 
And from far hills their long, deep note resounds, 
Thy sweetest music: Orthia, hear our cry. 
And let us worship thee, while far and high 
Climbs up thy brother, — while his light falls full 
Upon the earth, — for when the night -winds lull 

The world to sleep, then to the lightless sky 
Delia must glide, with robes of silver dew 

And sunward eye! 

II. 

Perhaps thou hiest to some shady spot 

Among broad trees, while frightened beasts hear not 

The clamor of thy hounds; there, dropping down 

Upon green grass and leaves all sere and brown, 

Thou pillowest thy delicate head upon 

Some gnarled and moss -robed root, where soft winds run 

Riot about thee, and thy fair Nymphs point 

Thy death -winged arrows, or thy hair anoint 



—60— 

With Lydian odors; and thj^ strong hounds lie 
Lazily on the ground, and watch thine eye, 
And watch thine arrows, while thou hast a dream. 
Perhaps in some deep -bosomed, shaded stream 
Thou bathest now, where even the loving Sun 
Catches no glimpse of thee; where shadows on 
The water's dusk collect, and make it cool. 
Like the wind -chilled wide sea, or some clear pool 
Deep in a cavern; hanging branches dip 
Their ringlets in the stream, or slowly drip 
With tear-drops of clear dew: before no eyes 
But those of flitting wind- gods, each nymph hies 

Into the deep, cool, rippling stream, and there 
Thou pillowest thyself upon its breast. 

Queen Cynthia, the Fair. 

III. 

By all thine hours of pleasure! — when thou wast 
Upon tall Latmos, moveless, tranced, and lost 
In boundless pleasure, ever gazing on 
Thy bright -eyed youngster; when the absent Sun 
Was lighting remote seas, or at mid -noon 
Careering through the sky! By every tune 
And voice of joy that thrilled about the chords 
Of thy great heart, when on it fell his words. 



—61— 

In that cool, shady nook, where thou hadst brought 

And placed Endumion; — v/here fair hands had taught 

All beaut}^ to shine forth ; where thy young maids 

Had brought rare shells for him, and from the glades 

All starry flowers, with precious stones, and gems 

Of utmost beauty, pearly diadems 

Of ancient sea- gods: birds were there, that sang 

And carolled ever; living waters rang 

Their changes at all times, to sooth the soul 

Of thy Endumion; pleasant breezes stole 

With light feet through the nook, that they might kiss 

His dewy lips. Ah! by those hours of bliss. 

Worth a whole life in heaven, come to us, fair 

And beautiful Aricia! Take us under 

Thy gentle care. 

1829. 



No. 8. 
TO ARES. 



Great War- God! mighty Ares! Hear our hymn, 
Sung to thee in the wood -recesses dim 
Of dusky Caria, near the Icariau wave! — 
When war's red storms in lurid fury rave. 
And the fierce billows of his hungry tide 
Over the groaning land sweep far and wide; — 



—62— 

When his thick legions, clad in gleaming steel, 

And bristling thick with javelins, madly reel 

In desperate conflict; — when the mighty roar 

Peals upward, shaking heaven's great golden floor. 

Even as the tumult of the maddened sea 

Shakes granite towers; — when Fear, and Agony, 

And Desperation, riot, hand -in -hand, 

And Fire and Famine waste the lean, lank land: — 

Then thou, rejoicing, ragest through the field; 

Like mountain - thunder clangs thy brazen shield; 

Thy falchion, like the lightning, flashes far; 

The frightened Earth, under thj^ sounding car, 

(Whirled swiftly by thy brazen -footed steeds, 

Flight and mad Terror) , shuddering, quakes and shivers; 

And ever, as the war's red surge recedes, 
Brooks swelled with blood run downward to red rivers. 

II. 

Turn thy wild coursers from our lovely land! 
Let not their hoofs trample our golden strand! 
Shake not thy spear above our fruitful hills, 
Nor turn to blood the waters of our rills! 
Crush not our floM^ers with thy remorseless wheels, 
Nor let our grain be trod with armed heels. 
That the poor starve! Let not thy sister ride, 
With Pestilence and Famine, by thy side; 



—63— 

But come with Aphrodite iu thy arms 
Enfolded, radiant with a thousand charms, — 
Her lovely head held on thy massive chest. 
Her sweet eyes soothing into placid rest 
Thy fiery passions; while her doves glide through 
The sparkling atmosphere. Bring with thee, too, 
Thj^ lovely children, at their mother's side; — 
Eros, whose form expands, and wings grow wide, 
When his sweet brother, Anteros, is near, 
The God of tenderest love, and faith sincere; — 

With fair Harmonia clinging to thy neck, 
And mingling music with her glad caresses; 

While the young Charites flit round, and deck 
With dew -en jewelled flowers thy loved one's golden 
tresses, 

m. 

Let thy harsh wheels roll through Abarimon, 
Where Mount Imaus glitters in the sun, 
Throned like a king, in solitary state: 
Make there more rugged and more desolate 
The frozen Scythian wildernesses; grind 
To dust the Indian rocks, and like the wind 
Drive thy fleet coursers through the Median plains. 
And over Bactria's barbarous domains; 
But spare the isles of our beloved Greece, 
And leave them sleeping tranquilly in peace. 



—64— 

Here, under an old, stately, branching oak, 
Thine altar sendeth to the clouds its smoke, 
Whereon the wolf and hungry vulture bleed. 
The magpie, and the bold and generous steed. 
We bow in adoration at thj'^ shrine, 
Dark-beariied God, majestic and divine! 
Our incense, burning, loads the eddying air. 
And Kuthereia joins us in our prayer. 

Wilt thou not listen kindly to the strain 
Which now around our vine -clad hills is pealing? 

For when did Beauty ever sue in vain. 
Even in his sternest mood meekly to Valor kneeling"? 

1845. 



No. 9. 
TO PALLAS. 



I. 

Hear, blue-eyed Pallas! Eagerly we call. 
Entreating thee to our glad festival, 
Held in the sunny morning of the year. 
On this our rosy isle, to thee most dear. 
Thine altar, builded by young maidens' hands, 
Near the Carpathian's sparkling water stands. 
Upon the slant and sunny Rhodian shore, 
Gracing the green lawn's undulating floor. 



y^ 



—65— 

Walled in with trees, which, sweeping wide around, 
Rampart the precincts of the holy ground. 
Myriads of roses, flushing full lu bloom, 
Send to far Caria surge of rich perfume, 
Like the glad incense of our prayer, which floats 
Up to the trembling stars. The riuging notes 
Of silver flutes roll through the echoing woods. 
Startling the Fauns in their shy solitudes. 
A hundred boys, each fairer than a girl. 
Over the greensward, clad in armor, whirl 
In thy wild mystic dance. A hundred maids, 
In white and gold, come from the dusky glades,— 
The loveliest of our beauty -blessed isle,— 
Their small white feet gleaming like stars, that smile 
In the dark azure of a moonless night. 
They bear thy robe of pure and stainless white, 
Sleeveless, embroidered richly with fine gold. 
Whereon thy deeds are told. 
Those, chiefly, done of old. 
When, blazing in the van, thou didst the Giants fight. 

II. 

Brain-born of Zeus! Thou who dost give to men 
Knowledge and wisdom; and hast brought again 
Science and art, in renovated youth, 
And taught fair Greece to love and seek the truth; 



—66— 

Thou to whom artist and artificer, 
Fearing thy potent anger to incur, 
Bend down beseechingly, and pray for aid, : 
In all the cunning mysteries of their trade; 
Inspired by thee, young men, immersed in cells. 
Drink deep of learning, at Time's ancient wells. 
Forget that Beauty's starry eyes still shine, 
And love Athene only, the Divine: 
Old gray -haired sages pore on antique scrolls, 
And feed with wisdom's oil their burning souls. 
Inspired by thee, the prophet sees afar 
The signs of peace, the portents of grim war; 
Foretells the strange and wayward destinies 
Of nations and of men, and when the skies 
With genial rains will bless the husbandman, 
Or vex the earth with hail. Thj^ favor can 
The life of those well loved by thee prolong, 
And make hoar Eld youthful again and strong. 
Oh, come to us! while glittering with dew 
Young Day still crimsons the horizon's blue! 

Come, Parthenos! to thy beloved home, 

Nor longer idly roam, 

Where hungry oceans foam, 
Round barbarous continents and islands new. 

III. 

Oh, come not to us, clad in armor bright. 
Intolerable unto mortal sight. 



—67— 

With flashing spear, and helm of blazing gold, 

Crested with griffin -guarded sphynx! nor hold 

Thine aegis, blazing with Medusa's eyes, 

Wreathed with live serpents! Not in warlike guise, 

As when against the Giants thou didst march, 

With strong tread shaking earth and the sky's great arch. 

Terrific in thy panoply of war, 

Jove's lightning in thy right hand flashing far; 

Till, struck with fear and overpowering di'ead, 

Heaven's baffled adversaries howling fled! 

Come in thy garb of peace, with kindly smile. 

Breathing new beauty on thy flowerj" isle ; 

With mystic veil over thy dazzling brow. 

And soft feet, whiter than the mountain -snow! 

Come to us over the exulting sea. 

From thy Tegaean shrine in Arcady; 

Thy sacred dragon gliding o'er the waves. 

While nymphs, emerging from deep ocean -caves. 

Floating like stars upon the misty spray, 

Carol around thee many a pleasant lay; 

And grim Poseidon, smiling at the strain. 

Gives thee glad welcome to his vast domain; 

And Aiolos bears incense from the shores. 

Where the mad Ganges roars. 

And his great torrent pours 
I' th' Indian sea, and all the trees rich odors rain. 



—68— 

IV. 

Thou who the daring Argonauts didst guide 

Over the stormy sea's rebellious tide; 

By Lemnos and by sunny Samothrace, 

(Fair isles, that sit the waves with swan -like grace,) 

By Troas and the dark Symplegades;^ 

And send them, with a favorable breeze. 

Through the wide Euxine into Colchis; hear! 

Oh, Virgin Goddess! and come smiling near. 

While here we wait upon the silver sands, 

And stretch imploringly our suppliant hands! 

Then shall our maidens, of long summer eves. 

Embowered among the overshading leaves, 

(While, taught of thee, their sweet task they fulfill, 

Plying the distaff with a curious skill,) 

Tell of the time, when, brighter than a star, 

Approaching on the azure sea afar. 

Thou didst our humble ceremonies bless, 

And smile upon their budding loveliness, — 

When new flowers sprang in every sunny vale. 

New odors loaded every pleasant gale. 

And whiter corn, and richer wine and oil. 

Thenceforward paid the husbandman's glad toil; 

And blander breezes, and serener skies 

Thereafter blessed the isle. Oh, good and wise! 



—69— 

Oh, radiant Goddess! Shall this sacred day 
Glide mournfully away, 
Fading to evening gray, 
And thou not deign to glad our anxious, longing eyes? 

1845. 



No. 10. 
TO HERMES. 



Hear, white -winged Messenger! If thy swift feet 
Loiter within Heaven's starry walls, where meet 
The Gods, their nectar daintily to sip 
At indolent leisure; where thy beardless lip 
Utters such eloquence, that thine old foe, 
Imperial Here, doth her hate forego. 
And hang entranced on thy sweet accents, while 
Cypria rewards thee with inviting smile. 
And wise Athene's cup stands waiting by. 
Till thou hast ended; — whether, near the sky. 
Among the palpitating stars thou soarest, 
Or foldest thy bright pinions in some forest 
That crowns an Asian mountain; — if thy wings 
Fan the broad sea, where sultry Afric flings 
His hot breath on the waters, by the shore 
Of Araby the blest; or in the roar 



—70— 

Of crashing Northern ice: — oh, turn, and urge, 
Thj^ winged course to us! Leave the rough surge. 
Or icy mountain -height, or city proud, 
Or haughty temple, or dim wood, down -bowed 

With weakening age. 
And come to us, thou young and mighty Sage! 

II. 

Thou who invisably dost ever stand 

Near each high orator, and hand- in -hand 

With golden -robed Apollon, touch the tongue 

Of the rapt poet; on whom men have hung, 

Strangely enchanted, when, in dark disguise. 

Thou hast descended from cloud -curtained skies, 

And lifted up thy voice to teach bold men 

Thy world -arousing art! Oh thou, that when 

The ocean was untracked, didst teach them send 

Great ships upon it! Thou, who dost extend. 

In storm or calm, protection to the hopes 

Of the fair merchant! Thou, that on the slopes 

Of Mount Kullene first mad'st sound the lyre 

And the delicious harp, — with childish fire 

And magical beauty playing, in dark caves 

Marvellous tunes, unlike the ruder staves 

That Pan had uttered; while each wondering Nymph 

Came out from tree and mountain, and the lymph 



—71— 

Of mountain -stream, to drink each echoing note 
That over the entranced woods did float, 

With fine clear tone. 
Like silver trumpets on a still lake blown. 



III. 



Thou matchless Artist! Thou, whose wonderous skill, 

In ages past the earth's wide bounds did fill 

With ever}' usefullness! Thou, who dost teach 

Quick-witted thieves the miser's gold to reach. 

And rob him of his sleep for many a night. 

Getting thee curses! Mischievous, mad sprite! 

Young Rogue -God Hermes! always glad to cheat 

All Gods and men; — with mute and noiseless feet 

Going in search of mischief; now to steal 

The spear of Ares, now to clog the wheel 

Of young Apollon's car, that it may crawl 

Most slowly upwards! Thou, whom wrestlers call. 

Whether they strive upon the level green 

At dewy nightfall, under the dim screen 

Of ancient oaks, or at the sacred games, 

In fiercer contest! Thou, whom each then names 

In half -thought prayer, when the quick breath is drawn 

For the last struggle! Thou, whom, on the lawn. 



—72— 

The victor praises, and ascribes to thee 
His fresh -reaped honors! Let us ever be 

Under thy care, 
And hear, oh hear, our solemn, earnest prayer. 

1829. 



No. 11. 
TO FLORA. 



I. 

Hear, lovely Chloris, while we sing to thee! 

Thou restest now beneath some shady tree. 

Near a swift brook, upon a mossy root; 

All other winds with deep delight are mute, 

While Euros frolics with thy flowing hair, 

A thousand odors floating on the air, 

And rippling softly through the dewy green 

Of the thick leaves, that murmuringly screen 

Thy snowy forehead. Struggling through their mass, 

The quivering sunlight snows upon the grass 

In golden flakes. Round thee a thousand flowers. 

Still glittering with the tears of Spring's light showers, 

Offer the incense of their glad perfume 

To thee, who makest them to bud and bloom. 
With thy kind smile and influence divine. 

Thine arms around young Zephuros entwine. 



—73— 

And his round thee. With roses garlanded, 
On his white shoulder rests thy lovely head; 

Thy deep eyes gaze in his, 
Radiant with mute, unutterable bliss, 

And, happy there. 

Oh, lovely, young, enamored pair, 
Your rosy lips oft meet in many a long, warm kiss! 

II. 

Now the young Spring rejoices, and is glad, 
In her new robes of starry blossoms clad; 
The happy earth smiles like an innocent bride, 
That sitteth, blushing, by her husband's side; 
The bird her nest with earnest patience weaves, 
And sings, delighted, hidden in the leaves; 
From their high homes iu cavernous old trees. 
The busy legions of industrious bees 
Drink nectar at each flower's enamelled brim. 
Breathing in murmured music their glad hymn; 
The Nereids come from their deep ocean -caves. 
Deserting for a time the saddened waves; 
The Druads from the dusky solitudes, 
Of venerable and majestic woods; 
The Naiads from deep beech -embowered lakes; 
The Oreads from where hoarse Thunder shakes 

6-P 



—74— 

The iron mountains; — wandering through cool glades, 
And blushing lawns, when first the darkness fades. 

Before the crimsoning morn. 
And ere the young Day's sapphire tints are gone, 

In glad haste all, 

Their lovers to enwreathe withal, 
Gather the fresh -blown flowers, gemmed with the tears 
of Dawn. 

III. 

Come, gentle Queen! we spill to thee no blood; 
Thine altar stands where the gray, ancient wood, 
Now green with leaves, and fresh with April rains. 
In stately circle sweeping round, contains. 
Embowered like a hill -environed dell, 
A quiet lawn, whose undulations swell 
Green as the sea -waves. Near a bubbling spring, 
Whose waters, sparkling downward, lightly wi'ing 
On the small pebbles — round whose grassy lip 
The birds and bees its crystal waters sip — 
Thine altar stands, of shrubs and flowering vines. 
Where rose with lilly and carnation twines. 
We burn to thee no incense. These fresh blooms, 
Breathe on the air more exquisite perfumes, 
Than all that press the overladen wind 
That seaward floats from Araby to Ind. 



—75— 

No priests are here prepared for sacrifice, 

But fair young girls, with mischievous, bright eyes. 

With white flowers garlanded, 

And by their young, delighted lovers led. 

With frequent kisses. 

And fond and innocent caresses. 
To honor thee, the victim and the priest instead. 

1845. 



No. 12. 
TO HUPNOS. 



I. 

Kind Comforter of all the weary Gods, 
With drooping eyelids, head that ever nods! 
Thou silent soother, that with all thy train 
Of empty dreams, dim tenants of the brain, 
Vague as the wind, dost sleep in thy dark cave. 
At whose mouth sluggishly white poppies wave. 
In the light airs that saunter by thy bed, — 
Thine only throne, with darkness tenanted. 
And curtains black as are the eyes of Night! — 
Thou, who dost sleep, when wanes the reluctant light, 
Deep in lone forests, where gray Evening hides. 
Trembling at sight of the sun; and Shadow glides 



—76— . 

Through silent tree-tops: or if, half -awake, 
Thou dozest on the margin of some lake, 
Land-locked, and still as the mute, cloudless sky; 
While thy quaint Dreams, wayward and wanton, fly. 
With mischievous pranks, fantastic tricks, mad mirth, 

About the sluggard. Earth: 
Oh, come, and hear the hymn that we are chanting, — 
Here, where the shivered star light through thick leaves 
is slanting! 

II. 

Thou lover of the banks of idle streams. 

Shadowed by broad old oaks, with scattered gleams 

From moon and stars upon them; — of the ocean, 

When its great bosom throbs with no emotion, 

But the round moon hangs out her lamp, to pour 

A sparkling glory on its level floor! 

Thou, that reclinest on the moist, warm sands, 

While winds come dancing from far southern lands, 

With dreams upon their backs, and wings that reek 

And drip with odors; or upon a peak 

Of cloud, that, like a hill of chrysolite. 

Leans on the western sky, when the bland night 

Comes late in summer; or beneath the sea. 

Scarce conscious of the dim monotony 

Of the great waves, here murmuring like the wings 

Of swarming dreams, while the huge ocean swings 



—77— 

His bulk above thy listless, heavy head! 

(As, chained upon his bed, 
A conquered Titan, with unconscious motion, — 
Even so respiring swings the mute and sleeping ocean.) 

III. 

Thou who dost bless sad mourners with thy touch, 

And make sharp Agony relax his clutch 

Upon the bleeding fibres of the heart, 

Pale Disappointment no more mope apart. 

And Sorrow dry her tears, and cease to weep 

Her life away, gaining new cheer in sleep! 

Thou who dost bless the birds, at evening gray. 

When, tired of singing all the summer day. 

They, longing, watch to see the evening star, — 

Thy herald, — on the sky's blue slope! Where are 

Thy flocks of fitting dream, dear God, by whom 

All noise is most abhorred? Come to this gloom. 

So cool, so fresh, where nought the silence stirs. 

Except the murmur of the dreaming firs! 

Touch our tired eyes ! Make the dusk shades more dense ! 

Ah! thou hast come! We feel thine influence. 

Forget our hymn, and sink in sleep away; 

And so, till new-born Day 
Climbs high in heaven, with fire -steeds swiftly leaping. 
Here we'll recline, beneath the vine -leaves calmly sleep- 
ing. 1830. 



LATONA. 

There was a sudden stir, 
Ages ago, on the JEgean Sea. 
With a loud cry, as of great agony. 
The blue deep parted, and the angry roar 
Of a great earthquake echoed round the shore; 
The tortured waters, trembling, stood aghast; 
Delos emerged, and anchored firm and fast 
Among the Cyclades, lay calm and still. 
In one brief moment, valley, plain, and hill 
Were carpeted with verdure, and great trees 
Sprung to full stature, shaking in the breeze 
Their limbs and leaves; and fruits, and buds, and flowers 
Longed for the sunshine and the summer showers. 
Pursued by Here, poor Latona had 
Till then been wandering, terrified and sad, 
Round the great earth, and through the weltering seas. 
Praying for mercy on long -bended knees. 
But still denied. Many a weary day, 
Above the shaggy hills, where, groaning, lay 
Enceladus and Typhon, she had roamed. 
And over valeanoes where lava foamed; 
And sometimes in dark forests she had hid. 
Where the lithe serpent through the long grass slid, 



—79— 

Over gray weeds and tiger -trampled flowers; 
Where the grim lion couched in tangled bowers, 
And the fierce panther, proud of his dappled skin. 
Startled the woods with his deep, moaning din. 
All things were there to terrify the soul; — 
The hedgehog that across her path did roll, 
Gray eagles, fanged like pards, old vultures bald. 
Fierce hawks, and restless owls, whose hoot appalled; 
Red scorpions, lurking under mossy stones, 
And here and there great piles of rotting bones 
Of the first men who won renown in wars; 
Brass heads of arrows, javalins, scimitars, 
Old crescent shield, and edgeless battle-axe; 
Large yellow skulls, with wide and gaping cracks. 
Too old and dry for worms to harbor in, — 
Only the useless spider there did spin 
His treacherous web. 

Then would she stop, and lay 
Her weary head among dead leaves, and pray 
That she might die, — and fainting thus remain. 
Pulseless, till thou, O Zeus! wouldest rise, and rain 
Thy light upon her eyelids. Then the tide 
Of life once more through her cold heart would glide. 
Her soul grow strong, 'and once more fit to cope 
With all her fate, and many a cheerful hope 
Glow in her heart; then, O King Zeus! wouldst thou 
With the bright terrors of thy frowning brow. 



—80— 

Scare every hateful creature far away. 

Then would she rise, fairer than rosy Day, 

And through the tiger -peopled solitudes, 

And oderous brakes, and panther -guarded woods 

Journey, until she reached the curving edge 

Of the blue sea; and there, on some high ledge 

Of porphyritic rock, sit long, and look 

Into thine eye, nor fear that from some nook 

The hideous shapes that haunted her would meet 

Her startled eyes. 

One day she cooled her feet 
On a long, narrow beach. The encroaching brine 
Had marked, as with an endless serpent -spine. 
The hard, smooth sand with a long line of shells, 
Like those the Nereids gather, in deep cells 
Of the sea, for Thetis: such they pile around 
The feet of cross old Nereus, having found 
That this propitiates him; such they bring 
To slippery Proteus as an offering. 
When they would have him tell their destiny, 
And what young God their first love is to be. 
And there Latona paced along the sands, 
Dreaming of journej'S into unknown lands, 
And persecutions to be suffered j-et: 
And when some wave, less shy than others, wet 
Her rosy feet, she tingled as when Thou 
Didst first thy lips press on her blushing brow. 



—81— 



Still she paced on over the firm, cool sand, 

And the heaped shells, and, once or twice, would stand 

And let her long, bright, golden tresses float 

Over the waters. Lo! the threatening note 

Of the fierce, hissing Dragon strikes her ear! 

Startled, she shivers with a horrid fear, 

And, mad with terror and insane despair, 

Flees to the sea, and seeks destruction there. 

But thy great Brother met her as she fell 

Into the waves, and gave her power to dwell 

Beneath the waters, like a Naiad, born 

Within the sound of Triton's mellow shell, 

That stills the waves. Then wandered she forlorn 

Through many wonders: — coral -raftered caves, 

Sunk far below the roar of clamorous waves; 

Sea-flowers like masses of soft golden hair 

Or misty silk; great shells, and fleshless spine 

Of old Behemoth; flasks of hoarded wine. 

Among the timbers of old, shattered ships; 

Goblets of gold, that had not touched the lips 

Of men a thousand years. 

At length she lay. 
Despairing, down, to weep her life 'away 
On the sea's floor, alone;— and then it was 
Thy mighty voice, the Deities that awes, 
Lifted to light under fair Grecian skies 
That lovely Cycladean Paradise, 



—82— 

And placed Latona there, when fast asleep, 

With parted lips, and respiration deep. 

And all unconscious. When, refreshed, she woke, 

She lay beneath a tall, wide -branching oak. 

Majestic, king-like, — from whose depths peeped out 

All those shy birds whose instinct is to doubt 

And fear mankind. Doves, with soft, patient eyes, 

Did earnestly artistic nests devise, 

Busy as bees under the sheltering leaves; 

Thrushes that love to house beneath mossed eaves ; 

Merles, brought from the far Azores, with their clear. 

Mellow, and fluty note; — the chaffinch, dear 

To the rude Thuringian, for its mazj^ trills; 

The mountain -finch, from Shetland's rugged hills. 

With its brown eyes, and neck of velvet -black; 

The sweet canary, yearning to flit back 

To his own isles; — the small gold- crested wren, 

Uttering its hurried trill of terror, when 

Aught hostile came anear its elegant nest, 

And pale -brown eggs; — the skylark, with his breast 

Wet with the morning dews, who never sings 

Upon the ground, but whose fine music rings 

High in the heavens; — the golden oriole. 

That mimics the rude flourishes which roll 

From braying trumpets, with his flute -like notes; 

Affectionate redstarts, who, with mellow throats. 



—83— 

First hail the dawn; — song -throstles, bold and fond 
From Smyrna and from ancient Trebizond, 
That sing in lofty tree -tops, at still noon, 
A musical and melancholy tune; 
The happy bulfinch, with his modest song, 
Low, soft, and sweet, — rose -ouzels, and a throng 
Of mountain linnets from the Orkney Isles, 
And warbling ortolons, from where the smiles 
Of the warm sun ripen the grapes of France; 
The frisking white-throat, with his antic dance. 
That sings at sultry summer -noon, and chases 
The small aphides through the tangled mazes 
Of rose and honeysuckle; — black -caps, nesting 
In the white thorn; who, while the world is resting. 
At midnight, wake with full, sweet melodies. 
Wild, deep, and loud, the sleep -enchanted bees; 
Blue- throated robins, bred near northern seas; 
And pied fly-catchers, nesting in old trees; 
And, last of all, the peerless nightingale. — 
Cicadas sang, hid in the velvet grass ; 
Bees all around did their rich store amass. 
Or clung together on a swinging bow, 
In tangled swarms; — above her pale, fair brow 
Hung nests of callow songsters ; and so nigh 
That she could touch it, lay, with lively eye. 



—84— 

A small, gray lizard; such do notice give 

When serpents glide; and in all lands they live, 

Even by the good -will of the rudest hind. 

Close to her feet, an antelope reclined, 

Graceful, large -eyed, white as the stainless fleece 

Of snow upon the topmost Pyrenees, 

And cropped the young buds of the sheltering trees 

From the drooping limbs. In the deep, sombre woods 

No voice stirred; nor in these sweet solitudes 

Did aught disturb the birds, except the hymn 

Sung by the fountain, from whose grassy brim 

Its liquid light, in thin, clear, sparkling jets. 

Rained ever on the thirsty violets ; 

The hum of leaves that whispered overhead. 

The brook that sang along its pebbly bed, 

The water -fall deep in the forest hid. 

And the slight murmur of the waves, that slid 

As softly up the firm, unyielding sand, 

As gentle children, clasping hand and hand. 

In the sick chamber of a mother grieve. 

And glide on tiptoe. — 

Here, Zerus, one eve. 
When thou didst shine high in the darkling west, 
And bathe Night's glossy hair and ebon breast, 
And gentle eyes with brightness, — while the Earth 
Sent up soft mists to thee, thy maid gave birth 



—85— 

To bright Apollo, and his sister fair, 
The ivory -footed Huntress; — such a pair, 
Tall-statured, beautiful, as now they sit 
On golden thrones, where, on Olympus met, 
The austere Senate of the immortal Gods 
Obeys and trembles if the Thunderer nods. — 
And when the radiant wings of morning stirred 
The darkness in the East, Latona heard, 
Faint and far off, the well -remembered hiss 
Of the great dragon. Bitter agonies 
Shot through her soul, and she had swiftly fled, 
And tried again old Ocean's friendly bed, 
Had not Apollo, young, sun-bright Apollo, 
Restrained her from the dark and perilous hollow. 
And asked what meant the noise. 
"It is," she said, 
"The monster Python, a great dragon, bred 
After the Deluge, in the stagnant mud. 
And thirsting for thy mother's innocent blood, 
Sent by great Here, Heaven's vindictive Queen, 
To slay us all." 

Upon the dewy green 
Lay ready to the hand a nervous bow 
And heavy arrows, eagle -winged, which thou. 
Oh, Zeus! hadst placed within Apollo's reach. 
These grasping, the young God stood in the breach 



—86— 

Of circling trees, with eye that fiercely glanced, 
Nostril expanded, lip pressed, foot advanced, 
And arrow at the string; when, lo! the coil 
Of the great dragon came, with sinuous toil. 
And vast gyrations, crushing down the branches. 
With noise as when a hungry tiger cranches 
Huge bones; and then Apollo drew the bow 
Full at the eye, nor ended with one blow; 
Dart after dart sped from the twanging string. 
All at the eye: until, a lifeless thing, 
The dragon lay. — 

Thus the young Sun -God slew 
The scaly monster; and then dragged and threw, 
(So strong he was), the carcass in the sea. 
Where the great sharks feasted voraciously. 
Lashing the water into bloody foam 
In their fierce fights. 

Latona thence could roam, 
With her brave children and defenders near, 
In earth, air, sea, or heaven, free of fear; 
Here forgave, and Zeus the twins did set. 
To guide the sun and moon, as they do yet. 



1830. 



^THE OLD CANOE. 



Where the rocks are gray and the shore is steep, 
And the waters below look dark and deep, 
Where the rugged pine, in its lonely pride, 
Leans gloomilj^ over the murk}- tide; 
Where the reeds and the rushes are long and lank. 
And the weeds grow thick on the winding bank, 
Where the shadow, is heavy the whole day through, 
There lies at its mooring the old canoe. 

The useless paddles are idly dropped, 

Like a sea bird's wings that the storm has lopped, 

And crossed on the railing, one o'er one. 

Like the folded hands when the work is done. 

While busily back and forth between. 

The spider stretches his silvery screen 



*While the authorship of this beautiful poem has been credited 
to Gen. Pike, it has also been denied that he wrote it, and he himself 
is said to have stated that the honor did not belong to him but to 
a young lady, whose name has never been mentioned, to the knowl- 
edge of the editor of this volume. The verses were republished in the 
Gazette a few years ago with this reference : 

"We do not know from what paper or magazine they were taken, 
but the editor of one, while crediting Gen. Pike with its authorship, 
makes this note: 'Long before the war the appended simple but 
charming verses appeared, without signature or address, in a short- 
lived paper at Little Rock, but it was generally understood that the 
author was Gen. Albert Pike.' " 



—88— 

And the solemn owl with the dull "too whoo," 
Settles down on the side of the old canoe. 

The stern, half sunk in the slimy wave, 

Rots slowly away in its living grave, 

And the green moss creeps o'er its dull decay. 

Hiding its mouldering dust away, 

Like the hand that plants o'er the tomb a flower, 

Or the ivy that mantels the falling tower. 

While many a blossom of loveliest hue, 

Springs up o'er the stern of the old canoe. 

The currentless waters are dead and still. 

But the twilight wind plays with the boat at will, 

And lazily in and out again, 

It floats the length of the rusty chain; 

Like the weary march of the hand of time, 

That meet and part at the noon-tide chime. 

And the shore is kissed at each turning anew. 

By the dripping bow of the old canoe. 

Oh, many a time with careless hand, 
I have pushed it away from the pebbly strand 
And paddled it down where the stream runs quick. 
Where the whirls are wild and the eddies are thick, 
And laughed as I leaned o'er its rocking side. 
And looked below in the broken tide, 



—89— 

To see that the faces and boats were two, 

That were mirrored back from the old canoe. 

But now, as I lean o'er its crumbling side, 

And look below in the sluggish tide, 

The face that I see there is graver grown, 

And the laugh that I hear is a sober tone. 

The hands that lent to the light skiff wings, 

Have grown familiar with sterner things; 

But I love to think of the hours that sped, 

As I rocked where the whirls their white spray shed. 

Ere the blossom waved or the green grass grew, 

O'er the mouldering stern of the old canoe. 

4 7.-P 



^ARIEL. 



I had a dream: Methought Ariel came, 

And bade me follow him; and I arose: 
Lighter my body seemed than subtle flame, 

Or than the invisible wind that always blows 
Above the clouds. So upward I did aim, 

With quick flight, as the skj^-lark sunward goes, — 
Led by the splendour of Ariel's wing, 
Whose snowy light before fled, glittering. 

IL 

So, floating upward through the roseate air, 
And through the wide interstices of cloud, 

We climbed the mist-hills, till we halted, where 
The frowning peaks beneath the azure glowed; 

Then gazed I all around; — no sun blazed there. 
But crimson light through the pure ether flowed. 

And dimmed the moon's eye and the stars' white cones, 

Till they were scarce seen on their golden thrones. 

*Tliis beautiful poem is said to have been written in the prairie 
while the author's horse was feeding by his side. 



—91— 
III. 

Awhile we trod along the quivering peaks 
Of foaming cloud; over entangled rifts 

Of purple light; through crimson -misted breaks; 
And saw blue lightning crouching in white drifts, 

Restless and quivering, while the broad, deep lakes 
Of vapor tremble as he stirs and shifts, 

Waked by the diapason of the thunder. 

That swells upon the wild wind rushing under. 

IV. 

And moored within a labyrinthine bay 

Girded by massive foam -cliffs, rough, storm-worn, 
On a flat shore of leaden vapour, lay 

A boat carved out of orange mist, which morn 
Had hardened into crystal, many a day, 

Deep in a rift in a vast glacier torn : — 
We stepped on board, — we loosed her from the bank. 
Our thirsty sail, spread wide, the breezes drank. 

V. 

And swiftly then our winged bark flew on, 
While I sat looking downward from the prow; 

Down broad, shade -margined rivers, dark and dun. 
Over smooth lakes, sea-green, with golden glow. 



—92— 

Flecked with broad black spots, here and there, upon 

Their mirrored surface : — now we float below 
Like a fleet shadow, over the vext breast 
Of boundless, billowy oceans of white mist. 

VI. 

Then rushed we into chasms, deep, wide and black, — 
By huge, bleak, stormy mountains, of the foam 

And rolling masses of the thunder-rack; 
Dark, quivering precipices of deep gloom. 

Aeries of brooding lightning; — and did tack 

In narrow inlets, through which roared the boom 

Of the mad wind; wherein did Thunder dream. 

And on the far blue waves his lightnings gleam. 

VII. 

And then we issued to the open vast 

Of cloudless air above; and while the sail 

Its silver shade upon my forehead cast, — 

Like lightning or swift thought, before the gale 

Fled our bright barque. Strange wonders there we passed, 
Currents of astral light, cold, thin and pale, 

Strange, voiceless birds that never sink to earth, 

And troops of fairies, dancing in mad mirth. 



—93— " 
VIII. 

Then we descended, till our barque did float 
Above the peak of one lone mountain; and 

Ariel furled the sail, and moored our boat 
Upon the margin of a narrow strand 

Of undulating mist, that from remote 

And dangerous seas had come, o'er many a land, — 

An amaranthine effluence of ocean. 

Changing forever with eternal motion. 

IX. 

Then, bending from the helm, Ariel gazed 

With keen eyes downward through the mighty vast, 

And waved his hand. The piles of mist upraised, 
That on the mountain's lofty crown were massed; 

And, gazing earthward, eager and amazed, 

While either way the rent clouds slowly passed, 

I saw a mighty palace, reared upon 

The grey, scarred summit of that towering cone. 

X. 

Columns of gold, with emerald inwrought, 

Ruby and jasper, and infoliate 
With leaves of silver, intricate as thought; 

Statues of gold, intercolumniate ; 



—94— 

Great altars, fed with costly odours, bought 

With toil and blood; and round the rude doors wait 
Large hosts of slaves, bending the patient knee, 
As though they lingered there some King to see, 

XI. 

Here," said Ariel, "liveth Tyranny, 
Remorseless reveller in war and blood; 

And these that humbly bend the supple knee, — 
Within whose inmost heart -cells ever brood 

Hatred, despair, chill fear and misery. 
Peopling with terrors the sad solitude, — 

These are his slaves. They bow there, night and day, 

And costly homage to his altars pay. 



xn. 



"And now, behold! forth from his broad gates ride 
His kindred fiends, the tools of his fierce ire. 

Your glorious Republic to divide. 

Friend against friend, the son against the sire, 

And near their graves who for your freedom died, 
Slay with the sword and devastate with fire: 

And I have brought thee here, that thou mayest tell 

Thy countrymen to shun that purple Hell." 



—95— 
XIII. 

Then, with a roar like thunder, open flew 

The brazen gates, and all the mountain quivered, 

And trembled like a child; and far off, through 
The distant hills, against the grey rocks shivered. 

That awful sound; and a wild voice that grew 
A terror to me, surging up, delivered. 

In tones that like a brazen trumpet roared, 

The order for the march: — Forth came the horde! 

XIV. 

First came Ambition, with his discous eye. 
And tiger- spring, and hot and eager speed. 

Flushed cheek, imperious glance, demeanour high; — 
He in the portal striding his black steed. 

Stained fetlock -deep with red blood not yet dry, 
And flecked with foam, did the wild cohort lead 

Down the rough mountain, heedless of the crowd 

Of slaves that round the altar- steps yet bowed. 

XV. 

Next came red Rashness, with his restless step, 

In whose large eyes glowed the fierce fire that boiled 

In his broad chest. Large gouts of blood did drip 
From his drawn sword; the trembling slaves recoiled: 



—96— 

Scorn and fierce passion curled his writhing lip; 

His dress was torn with furious haste, and soiled; — 
So, springing on his reeking steed, he shook 
The reins, and downward his swift journey took. 

XVI. 

Then came dark Disappointment, with the foam 
Of rage upon his lips, sad step and slow, 

Stern, wrinkled brow, clenched teeth, and heavy gloom, 
Like a shadow on his eyes, — in these a glow 

Like that of baleful stars within a tomb; 
His tangled locks left in the wind to blow; 

And so did he forth from the palace stride. 

And stalk away down the steep mountain -side. 

XVIL 

Next followed Envy, with deep -sunken eye. 
Glaring upon his mates. He beat his breast 

And gnashed his teeth, with many a bitter sigh; 
For in his heart, deep in its core, a nest 

Of fierjr scorpions gnawed, that never die. 
Writhing and stinging ever; — on he pressed, 

Mounted upon a pale and hound -eyed steed, 

And down the mountain, snarling, did proceed. 



—97— 

XVIII. 

And then old Avarice, tottering out, appeared, 
With wrinkled front and gray and matted hair, 

And elfish eyes, blue -circled, small and bleared: 
He slowly walked, with cautious, prying air. 

Working his lips under his filthy beard, 

Peering upon the ground with searching eye. 

Clutching a purse with yellow, wasted hand, — 

And so he followed the descending band. 

XIX. 

Then came Corruption, with his serpent -tongue. 
Quick, hurried gait, and eye astute, yet bold; 

And while, amid the crouching, base, bowed throng 
Of suppliant slaves, he did his quick way hold, 

He loudly hurried Avarice along, 

Who crawled before him with his bag of gold; • 

Bestriding then his rich -apparelled steed, 

He followed swiftly where his mates did lead. 

XX. 

Next, dark Fanaticism, his haggard face 
Flushing with holy anger, down the track 

Went, loud bewailing that the good old days 
Of fire and faggot had not yet come back, 



—98— 

When Error was a crime, and to the ways 

Of Truth men were persuaded by the rack; — 
On either side, a little in advance, 
Bigotry rode, and harsh Intolerance. 

XXI. 

Hypocrisy came next, prim, starched and staid. 
With folded hands and upturned pious eyes, 
As though God's law he punctually obeyed; 

His sordid greed seeks its base end by lies; 
He lusts for every ripe, voluptuous maid, 

Then wrings his hands, and prays, and loudly cries, 
" Owner of men! stand off, afar, while I, 
" Holier than thou art, piously pass by!" 

XXII. 

And next came Treason, with his blood-stained hand, 
Deep, black, fierce eye, and bold, unquailing air; 

While even as he passed his hot breath fanned 
The grovelling slaves into rebellion there: 

His armour clashed, and his broad battle -brand 
Did in the purple sheen like lightning glare ; 

And so his fiery courser he bestrode. 

The echo of whose hoofs roared down the road. 



—99— 
XXIII. 

Last came King Anarchy. His cold eyes flashed 
With red fire blazing up from Hell's abyss; 

His large white wolf- teeth angrily he gnashed, 
His blue lips parted like a tigress's: 

His dusky destrier was with foam besplashed, 
And fiery serpents did around him hiss, 

Writhing amid his war- steed's misty mane. 

Whose hoofs the young grass scorched like fiery rain. 

XXIV. 

As he rode down, there mustered in the rear 
A hideous flock, some few in human form. 

Some shapeless. Here came, crouching by, pale Fear, 
Revenge and Wrath, and Rapine, a base swarm; 

And Cruelty and Murder, and their peer. 
Red Persecution, pouring a hot storm 

Of fire and blood from his relentless hand; — 

All these are under Anarchy's command. 

XXV. 

^ When the horde passed below the mountain's brow, 
-* With clashing hoof, mad turmoil and loud din, 
Within the hall there rose a wild halloo. 

As though a thousand fiends rejoiced therein; — 



—100— 

The upper air vibrated it unto, 

The currents trembled of its crimson sheen; 
The lightning -lofts were shaken; and our boat 
Rocked on the strand where the harsh echo smote. 

XXVI. 

Then did Ariel lift the snowy sail, 

Of our ethereal barque. The helm he took, 

And up behind us sprang a gentle gale, 

Murmuring astern, like a sweet summer-brook, 

That broad-leaved water-plants from daylight veil; — 
And, while the sail a snowy brightness shook 

Upon the prow, I lay and watched the boat, 

Steered by Ariel, on its voyage float. 

XXVII. 

Then, passing swiftly, with a favoring gale. 

Round the grey forehead of the storm -scarred hill, 

We did descend. Near us the moonlight pale 
Slept in thick masses, soberly and still, 

In the deep nooks of many a purple vale. 
Of frosted mist; and down a ringing rill 

Of sunlight, flowing past a lofty bank 

Of amber cloud, toward the green earth we sank. 



—101— 
XXVIII, 

And then we passed by mountain -nourished rivers, 
Vexed to white foam by rocks their sides that galled; 

Near hoary crags, by lightning split to shivers. 
Peopled by nervous eagles, grey and bald; 

Forests wherein the wind-wave always quivers, 
Shaking their deep hearts green as emerald ; 

Lakes that, like woman's bosom, panting swell, 

Robed with the living foam of asphodel. 

XXIX. 

Within the shadow of old crumbling columns. 
Along these lakes we sailed, and saw beneath 

Great water- snakes rolling their scaly volumes 
Among the water -vines that there did wreathe; — 

Through chasms of purple gloom, with rivers solemn 
Moaning between their jagged, rocky teeth; — 

And then again above the earth we lifted, 

And lowered the sail, and helmlessly there drifted. 

XXX. 

Below us, stretching from the broad green sea 

Into wide prairies, did a fair land lie. 
Studded with lakes as still as porphyry 

And blue hills sleeping in the bluer sky, 



—102— 

From whose white cones' serene sublimity 

The snowy lightning dazzled the sun's eye; 
The amethystine rivers thence rolled down 
To fling their foam on Ocean's hoary crown. 

XXXI. 

Great cities, queen -like, stood upon his shore. 
And on the banks of those majestic rivers, 

And near broad lakes, where at the awful roar 
Of one great cataract the stunned earth shivers : 

Ships went and came in squadrons, flocking o'er 
That Ocean which the Old and New World severs, 

Shading the bays and rivers with their sails. 

Their starred flags laughing at propitious gales. 

XXXII. 

Broad fields spread inland, robed in green and gold. 
And waving with a mighty wealth of grain. 

From where the bear snarled at the Arctic cold, 
To the Mexique Gulf, and the Pacific Main; — 

Far South, in snowy undulations, rolled, 

With their white harvests many a treeless plain ; 

And where the Sierra westwardly inclines, 

Gleamed a new Ophir, with its glittering mines. 



—103— 
XXXIII. 

The Throne of Liberty stood in that land, 
Its guards the Law and Constitution; these, 

These and no other held supreme command, 

And everywhere, through all the land, was peace. 

Grim Despotism fast in his iron hand 

Held all men's rights in the ancient Monarchies; 

But Freedom reigned here undisturbed and calm. 

Holding an eagle on her snowy palm. 

XXXIV. 

Then, as I gazed, it seemed men's hearts became 
Transparent to me as the crimsoned air. 

Or as the thin sheet of a subtle flame; 

And I could see the passions working there 

Like restless serpents; how they went and came, 
And writhed or slept within their fiery lair; 

So that I saw the cause of each vibration 

That shook the heart-strings of that youthful nation. 

XXXV. 

I watched the souls of all that people, when 
That train of fiends did thitherward repair; 

I saw old creeping Avarice crouch therein. 
Like a caged panther; and his grizzled hair 



—104— 

Choked up the springs of Virtue, so that men 

Were proud the Devil's livery to wear, 
And did begin to count and calculate 
That Union's value which had made them great. 

XXXVL 

I saw red Rashness and Ambition urge 
Men to ill deeds for office; with a wing 

Like the free eagle's, lo! they swift emerge 

From the dens and caves of earth, and upward spring, 

With daring flight; but like the baffled surge. 
That doth against a rock its masses fling, 

They are repelled; some great, calm, kingly eye 

Withers their plumes; a little while they fly, 

XXXVII. 

And then, still striving with their shrivelled wings. 
Drop on the earth, and in each cankered soul 

Pale Disappointment crouches. Envy clings, 

Rage, Hate, Despair at the sweet sunlight scowl, 

Revenge and fiery Anger dart their stings 

Into themselves, and with the sharp pain howl; 

Then forth these patriots go, a motley brood. 

And preach sedition to the multitude. 




Lwrnm 



STATUE OF GEN. ALBERT PIKE. 

Erected in Washington, D. C, 

in 1899. 



—105— 
XXXVIII. 

Then Faction and the Lust for office shook 

Their filthy wings over the whole land, lighting 

On hill and plain, bj^ river, lake and brook 
The fires of discord, and new hates exciting; 

And lean Corruption sneaked in every nook. 
With Avarice's hoards to crime inviting; 

Till men no longer saw that glittering Star, 

The Constitution, shining from afar. 

XXXIX. 

Fanaticism preached a new crusade, 

And Bigotry damned slavery as a crime; 

Intolerance, brandishing his murderous blade. 

Denounced the Southron in bad prose and rhyme; 

The Pulpit preached rebellion; men, dismayed, 
Saw the red portents of a bloody time 

Burn ominous upon the Northern sky, 

And sword -like comets, threatening, blaze on high. 

XL. 

Treason, without disguise, all clad in mail. 
Stalked boldly over the distracted land: 

Cries of Disunion swelled on every gale; 

The Ship of State drew near the rocky strand, 

8— p 



—106— 

With rent sails, through the lightning and the hail; 

Her mariners a reckless, drunken band; 
And Freedom, shuddering, closed her eyes, and left 
Their vessel on the weltering seas to drift. 

XLI. 

Then Anarchy turned loose his maddened steed. 
Whose iron hoofs went clanging through the land, 

Filling men's hearts with fear and shapeless dread; 
Then leaped on board, and with audacious hand, 

Grasped he the helm, and turned the vessel's head 
Toward unknown seas, and, at his fierce command. 

Through the red foam and howling waves, the dark, 

Ill-visaged mariners to ruin sailed the barque. 

XLII. 

I shuddered for a time, and looked again, 
Watching the day of that eventful dawn; 

Wild War had broken his adamantine chain, 
Bestrid the steed of Anarchy, and drawn 

His bloody scimiter; a fierj^ rain 

Of blood poured on the land, and scorched the corn; 

Wild shouts, mad cries, and frequent trumpets rang. 

And iron hoofs thundered with constant clang. 



—107— 
XLIII. 

I saw and heard uo more, for I did faiut, 
And would have fallen to the earth, had not 

Ariel stooped and caught me as I went. 

He raised the sail, and left that fearful spot; 

And while into the soft, cool air I leant, 

Drinking the wind that followed the swift boat, 

He said to me, with gentle voice and clear, 

Ringing like tones ^eolian in my ear: 

XLIV. 

'Thou has not seen the woes that are to come, 
The long, dark days, that lengthen into years, 

The reign of rapine, when the laws are dumb. 

The bloody fields, the hearth -stones wet with tears; 

The starving children, wrangling for a crumb. 
The cries of ravished maidens, that God hears, 

And does not heed, the blackened walls that stand 

Amid the graves, through all the wasted land. 

XLV. 

■ Go, tell your misled people the sad fate. 
The bitter woes and sharp calamities, 
That in the swiftly -coming Future wait; 
The fruit of Faction's sordid villainies., 



—108— 

Of discord and dissension, greed and hate, 
And all that in man base and brutal is; 
Unless they guard, with sleepless vigilance. 
Their liberties against such dire mischance." 

XL VI. 

He said no more; meanwhile we kept along 

The elemental greenness of the ocean, 
Whose great breast throbbed and trembled with the strong 

Stern pulses of its vibratory motion; 
Across still bays, mid many a tangled throng 

Of misty isles, sleeping like sweet devotion 
In woman's heart, bordered with low white shores, 
Running off inland with green level floors. 

XLVII. 

We saw grey water-plants that fanned the deep. 
With golden hair, far down beneath the boat; 

Caverns, shell -paven, where the Naiads sleep; 

Clouds of thick light through the great Vast that float ; 

Great emerald -rifts, wherein the ripples keep 
A constant murmur of seolic notes; 

Broad beds of coral, rosy as the Dawn, 

The radiant sea -flowers thick on many a lawn. 



—109— 
XL VIII. 

And then we left the boat, and quick descended, 
Through the clear air, as we had first arisen. 

Unto my home, wherein I found extended 

That which again became my sad soul's prison; 

Then with a brief adieu he upward wended. 

While far behind long lines of light did glisten; 

Leaving me meditating on my dream. 

Which still like deep and dark reality doth seem. 

1833. 



ODE TO THE MOCKING-BIRD. 



Thou glorious mocker of the world! I hear 
Thy many voices ringing through the glooms 

Of these green solitudes; and all the clear, ^ 

Bright joyance of their song enthralls the ear, 
And floods the heart. Over the sphered tombs 

Of vanished nations rolls thy music -tide: 
No light from History's starlit page illumes 

The memory of these nations: They have died: 
None care for them but thou; and thou mayst sing. 
Over me, too, perhaps, as thy notes ring 

Over their bones by whom thou once wast deified. 

Glad scorner of all cities! Thou dost leave 
The world's mad turmoil and incessant din, 

Where none in others' honesty believe. 

Where the old sigh, the young turn gray and grieve. 
Where misery gnaws the maiden's heart within; 

Thou fleest far into the dark green woods. 

Where, with thy flood of music, thou canst win 

Their heart to harmony, and where intrudes 
No discord on thy melodies. Oh, where. 
Among the sweet musicians of ihe air. 

Is one so dear as thou to these old solitudes? 



— Ill— 

Ha! what a burst was that! The ^olian strain 
Goes floating through the tangled passages 

Of the still woods; and now it comes again, 

A multitudinous melody, like a rain 
Of glassy music under echoing trees, 

Close by a ringing lake. It wraps the soul 
With a bright harmony of happiness, 

Even as a gem is wrapped, when round it roll 
Thin waves of crimson flame; till we become. 
With the excess of perfect pleasure, dumb. 

And pant like a swift runner clinging to the goal. 

I cannot love the man who doth not love, 
As men love light, the songs of happy birds; 

For the first visions that ray boy -heart wove. 

To fill its sleep with, were that I did rove 

Through the fresh woods, what time the snowy herds 

Of morning clouds shrunk from the advancing sun, 
Into the depths of Heaven's blue heart, as words 

From the Poet's lips float gently, one by one. 
And vanish in the human heart; and then 
I revelled in such songs, and sorrowed, when. 

With noon-heat overwrought, the music-gush was done. 

I would, sweet bird, that I might live with thee, 

Amid the eloquent grandeur of these shades. 
Alone with Nature! — but it may not be: 
I have to struggle with the stormy sea 



—112— 

Of human life until existence fades 
Into death's darkness. Thou wilt sing and soar 

Through the thick woods and shadow -chequered glades, 
While pain and sorrow cast no dimness o'er 

The brilliance of thy heart; but I must wear, 

As now, ray garments of regret and care, 
As penitents of old their galling sackcloth wore. 

Yet, why complain? What though fond hopes deferred 
Have overshadowed Life's green i)aths with gloom? 

Content's soft music is not all unheard: 

There is a voice sweeter than thine, sweet bird. 
To welcome me, within my humble home; 

There is an eye, with love's devotion bright, 
The datkness of existence to illume. 

Then why complain? When Death shall cast his blight 
Over the spirit, my cold bones shall rest 
Beneath these trees; and from thy swelling breast 

Over them pour thy song, like a rich flood of light. 

1834. 



AN EVENING CONVERSATION. 



One day last Spring, — one sunny afternoon, — 
Lapt in contented indolence, I lay 
Within a pillared circle of old trees; 
Deep -bedded in the smooth luxurious sward. 
That, fed by dropping dew and faithful shade, 
Grew green and thick under the stout, strong oaks. 
Around me the broad trees kept watch and ward. 
Swinging their foreheads slowly in the air, — 
Green islets in an eddying overflow 
Of amber light. Among the emerald leaves 
The broken waves from that enfolding sea 
Struggled to reach the young birds in their nests. 
As truth strives earnestly to reach the heart. 
Often repulsed, yet still endeavouring. 
One strip of light lay on the level grass, 
Like a thin drift of pearl -snow, tinged with rose. 
There I had lain since noon, stretched out at ease, 
Reading, by turns, in this and that old book. 
Fuller, Montaigne, and good Sir Thomas Browne, 
Felthara and Herbert. Mingling with the light, 
As in a song mingle two girls' sweet voices, 
The song of many a mad bird floated up. 
Dazzling my ears, to the high empyrean. 
Breaking upon the blue sky's western beach, 



—114— 

Flung upward from the throbbing sea below, 
The waves of light and cloud foamed up in spray, 
Stained by the sun with all his richest colours, 
Sapphire and sardonyx: floating forth, perfumes 
From rose and jasmine wandered wide abroad, 
Into the meadow, and along the creek. 
That dances joyfully along its bed 
Of silver sand and pebbles, through the glade. 
And like a child, frightened at sudden dusk. 
Stops, still as death, under you dark gray crag. 
Of thunder -scarred and overhanging rock. 
Where in deep holes lurks the suspicious trout. 
The locust-trees, with honey- dropping blooms. 
Tempted the bees; that, darting to and fro, 
Grew rich apace with their abundant spoil : 
And the magnolia, with its sweet perfume. 
Within large circle loaded all the air. 
My children played around me on the grass, — 
Sad rogues, that interrupted much my thought. 
And did perplex my reading, — one in chief, 
A little chattering girl with bright brown eyes. 
Scarce taught to speak distinctly, but my pet. 
As she well knew, and of it took advantage. 
While there I lay, reading in idle mood, 
I heard a step along the shaded walk. 
Where the clematis and the climbing rose. 
The honeysuckle and the jasmine turned 



—115— 

Their bright eyes to the sun, — an emerald arch, 

With golden flowers embroidered. Looking up, 

I saw approaching, with his kindly smile, 

And outstretched hand, the dearest of my friends. 

Who played with me in childhood on the sands. 

And on the sounding rocks that fringed the sea. 

And on the green banks of the Merrimac; 

Grew up with me to manhood, with me left 

Our ancient home, and many a weary month, 

Fast by my side, still toiled and travelled on. 

Through desert, forest, danger, over mountains. 

Amid wild storms, deep snows, — bore much fatigue, 

Hunger and thirst, bravely and like a man. — 

After warm welcome kindly interchanged, 

Idly we stretched ourselves upon the sward. 

And lightly talked of half a hundred things, ' 

Each with a little head upon his arm, 

Whose bright eyes looked as gravely into ours, 

As though they understood our large discourse: 

Until at length it chanced that Luther said. 

Responding to some self- congratulation 

That bubbled from the fountain of my heart. 

At thinking of my humble, happy life: — 

"We are all mariners on this sea of life; 
And they who climb above us up the shrouds. 
Have only, in their over -topping place, 
Gained a more dangerous station, and foothold 



—lie- 
More insecure. The wind, that passeth over, 
And harmeth not the humble crew below, 
Whistleth amid the shrouds, and shaketh down 
These overweening climbers of the ocean. 
Into the seething waters of the sea. 
The humble traveller securely walks 
Along green valleys, walled with rocky crags, 
Deep-buried vales, in Alps or Apennine, 
By Titans sentinelled, yet rich with flowers. 
And gushing with cool springs; — a cloudless sun 
Lighting his pathway; — while the venturous fool. 
Who climbed the neighboring mountain, sees, aghast 
The purple drifts of thunder -shaken cloud 
Roll foaming over the blue icy crags. 
On which his feet slip, — -feels the heavy spray 
Dash, roaring like a sea, against his side. 
And bitterly reprents he climbed so high. 
Sharp lightning flashes through the billowy dusk 
Of the mad tempest. Through the]lonely pines, 
Far down below him, howls the exulting wind, — 
The thunder crashes round his dizzy head, — 
And smitten by the earthquake's mailed hand 
The jut whereon he stands gives way, like Power, 
And down a thousand fathoms headlong falls 
The ambitious climber, a bruised, bloody mass, 
Before the peaceful traveller below. 
Better a quiet life amid our books, 



—117— 

Than, like mad swimmers in a stormj^ ocean, 
To breast the roar and tumult of the world." 

" I think so, too: and I am well content 
To lead a peaceful, quiet, humble life. 
Among my children and my patient books. 
Disgrace and danger, like two hungry hounds, 
Run ever on the track of those who do 
Good service to their country, or achieve 
Distinction and a name above their fellows. 
And slander is an ever- current coin. 
Easy of utterance as pure gold, deep -stamped 
With the king's image, in the mint of Truth. 
What service to his country can one do, 
In the wild warfare of the present age! 
To gain success, the masses must be swayed; — 
To sway the masses, one must be well skilled 
And dexterous with the weapons of the trade. 
Who fights the gladiator without skill. 
Fights without arms. Why! he must lie and cheat 
By fair pretences, double and turn at will. 
Profess whatever doctrine suits the time. 
Juggle and trick with w^ords, in everything 
Be a base counterfeit, and fawn and crouch 
Upon the level of the baser sort. 
I love the truth, because it is the Truth, 
And care not whether it be profitable. 
Or if the common palate relish it. 



—118— 

Of all things most I hate the Plausible: 

An open knave's an open enemy; 

But sleek Pretence witli the stilletto stabs, 

At dusky corners, of a starless night. 

The True and Popular are deadly foes, 

Ever at dagger's point, in endless feud. 

If one could serve his country by success, 

Or strengthen her defences, he might well 

Endure abuse and bitter contumely. 

Slander and persecution; but to fling 

One's self down headlong from the vessel's prow, 

Into the angry chasms of the deep, 

Without a hope to stay the ship's mad course, 

Is the profoundest folly of the time. — 

Behold how nobly sets the Imperial Sun! 

The golden glories of his mellow rays 

On the green meadow -level fall aslant; 

On either side, the crests of snowy cloud. 

With crimson inter- penetrated, shrink 

And yield him room: no dusky bar obscures 

The broad maguiticence of his wide eye; 

Though farther south, dark as a cataract 

Of thundering waters, a great cloud lets down 

Its curtain to the blue horizon's edge; 

While, here and there, a wing of snowy foam, 

Upon its front, glints like the shining sail 

Of some aerial shallop, fleeing swift 



—119— 

Along the surfarce of the tranquil deep. — 
Will truth at any time shine broadly forth, 
Even as the sun shines, with no cloud of Error 
To intercept a single glorious ray?" 

"Truth is omnipotent, and will prevail; 
And Public Justice certain." 

"Aye, my friend! 
A great man said so. ' T is a noble thought. 
Nobly expressed; itself a creed complete. 
But in what sense is Truth omnipotent. 
And at what time is Public Justice certain? — 
Truth Vv^ill avenge herself, for every wrong. 
And for all treason to her majesty. 
Upon the nation or the individual, 
That doth the wrong, by those grave consequences, 
Which do, from falsehood or in deed or word, 
By law inflexible result. The cause 
Why nations do so often topple down. 
Like avalanches, from their eminence. 
Why men do slink into disastrous graves, 
In the stern sentence hath been well expressed; 
'Ye would not know the truth or follow it.' 
Truth has the power to vindicate itself; 
But to convince all men that 't is the truth. 
Is far beyond its reach: and public virtue 
And public service eminent, are paid. 
In life, by obloquy and contumely. 



—120— 

But, after death, by large obsequies, 

And monuments and mausolea. Thus 

Is public justice certain. We regard 

With slight observance and a careless glance, 

The Sun that now has closed his radiant eye. 

Below the dim horizon's dusky verge, 

So long as we behold him in the heavens, 

And know that (iod's Omnipotence compels 

His due return. We give no earnest thanks 

Of heartfelt gratitude -for this great gift 

Of light, the largest blessing of them all. — 

Lo! he has sunk beneath the glassy sea 

Of the broad prairie, whose great emerald lid 

Shuts slowly over him. If never more 

That glorious orb should rise to light the earth. 

Men, staggering blindly through unnatural night, 

Would understand the blessing they had lost, 

And public justice would be done the Sun," 

" After a long, dark night, a starless night. 
In which the thin moon early struggled down 
To where the sky and desert met together. 
Plunging with hard endeavor through the surf 
And spray that gloomed along the tortured heaven ,- 
After a long, dark night of storm and sleet. 
The daylight comes with slow and feeble steps. 
How imperceptibly the Dawn begins, 
After the storm has sobbed itself asleep. 



—121 — 

To shine upon the ej^elids of the East. 

By slow degrees the distant snowy crests 

Of the great mountains, where, for age on age, 

Tempests have vainly thundered, are discerned 

Upheaving their dim heads among the clouds. 

The straining eye then makes the contour out 

Of the near forests. Then a rosy mist 

Spreads like a blush upon the purple clouds 

Becoming by degrees a crimson light; 

Until, at last, after a weary watch, 

Kept by cold voyagers on disastrous seas, 

Or storm -vexed travellers on wide desert plains. 

The broad sun rushes through the eddying mist, 

Flinging it off, as from a frigate's prow 

Flash back the sparkling waves. The wakened world, 

Gladdened with light, rejoices in her strength. 

And men adore the imperatorial Sun. 

So shall it be with Truth. Long Ages are 

The minutes of her twilight. The white sails 

Of the Dawn's boat are crimsoned by her light. 

Where it lies rocking near the eastern strand, 

Waiting a pilot to assume the helm, 

And steer it round the circle of the sky; 

For Truth below the horizon lingers yet. 

But after you and I are dead and cold, 

Our bones all mouldered to a little dust, 

9-P 



— 122 — 

Our monuments all crumbled into clay, 

She, like the sun, shall rise and light the world, 

Never to set. The humblest man has power 

To accelerate her coming; and the words 

We speak or write, in that effect shall live 

Long after we are gathered to the dead. 

Thought shakes the world, as the strong earthquake's tread 

Shakes the old mountains and the impatient sea. 

Each written word, teaching the humblest truth, 

No matter in what homely garb arrayed. 

Is one of those uncounted myriad drops 

That make the stream of Thought, which first sprung forth 

A slender, feeble rill, when all the earth 

Was dark as midnight, from the inmost caves 

And deep recesses of the human mind. 

Where it was born. Think you one drop is lost 

Of all by which that stream has grown so great! — 

No longer trickling over the gray rocks, 

Or foaming over precipice and crag. 

It rolls along, a broad, deep, tranquil stream. 

Resistless in calm energy and strength. 

Through the wide plains, — and feels the giant pulse, 

(So near it is to universal power). 

Of Ocean throbbing in its great blue heart. 

Let us work on! — for surely it is true 

That none work faithfully without result. 



—123— 

What if we do uot the result perceive? 
God sees it; it is present now, to Him: 
So that we know our labour is not lost." 

" Content you friend! I shall not cease to work. 
I am the harnessed champion of Truth, 
Cuirassed and greaved, sworn to her glorious cause, 
With Beauty's favor glittering in my helm. 
But henceforth I shall labour in the peace 
And quietness of my beloved home. 
No good is wrought by mingling in the fray 
Of party -war. Under these kingly trees, 
Encouraged by mj^ children's loving eyes. 
Soothed to serene and self-possessed content, 
By all the sights and sounds that bless me here, 
Will I work ever in her noble cause. 
The words of Truth should flow upon the ears 
Of the unwilling world, until it heeds: 
Even as the crystal waters of our spring. 
That, night and day, all seasons of the year. 
Indifferent to censure or to praise. 
Seen and unseen, singing their quiet tune, 
Leap joyfully over its grassy brim. 

Starred with bright flowers; rain on the thankful sward, 
Where now the almond drops its rosy gems, 
And the syriuga trails its drooping twigs, 
Fringed thickly with its small and snowy blooms; 
And murmuring their gratitude to God, 



—124— 

Flow onward, seeking patiently the sea; 

Not other now, than when, for many an age. 

Primaeval forests hid it from all sight, 

Save the fond stars; no lip bent down to drink; 

And since creation's morning, not an eye 

Of man had seen it. 'T is a pregnant lesson." 

" I see its waters gleaming in the light 
Of the young moon, and hear the slender sound 
Of the stirred pebbles in its narrow bed. 
If men would do their duty, like the springs, 
Committing the result and their reward 
To God, who loveth all, the golden age, 
That most delicious fable of old rhyme, 
Would come indeed." 

"I, for my single self. 
Shall still live on in this, the peaceful calm 
And golden ease of my dear humble home : 
As in the sheltered harbor of some isle. 
Enclosed by southern seas, the storm -worn ship 
Escaped the waves, old ocean's hungry hounds, 
That cry and chafe without, furls all her sails, 
And sleeps within the shadow of the trees. 
Rocked by the undulations caused by storm, 
That vexes all the ocean round the isle. 
Here will I make myself a golden age. 
Here live content, and happier than a king. 



—125— 

Nor bird that swings and sleeps in his small nest, 

Nor bee that revels in the jasmine-blooms, 

Nor humming-bird, that robs the honeysuckle, 

Nor cricket, nested under the warm hearth, 

Shall sing or work more cheerfully than I." 

With this, the moon, opening one azure lid. 

Had sometime poured her light ui)on the birds, 

Among the green leaves of the ancient oaks; 

The drops rained thick upon the bright green grass. 

From the spring's brim, like a swift silver hail; 

The meadow seemed a wide, clear, level lake 

Of molten silver, by her alchemy; 

The shoulders of the northern mountains glittered 

With a new glory, and one splintered peak 

Shot up in bold relief against the sky. 

With one large star resting npon his crown, 

A beacon-light on a Titanic tower. 

Around that peak, to north and east stretched out 

The line of dusky forest, far away. 

Bounding the prairie like a rampart there. 

With curtain, bastion, scarp and counterscarp. 

The thick stars smiled upon the laughing earth. 

As bright and cheerful as a young child's eyes. 

The thin leaves, shaken by the southern wind, 

Murmured in night's pleased ear. The light dew fell 

On bud and flower; and, wakened by the moon. 



—126— 

The locust and the katydid sang loud 
And shrill within the shadows of the trees. 
While in the thorn -tree, growing near the spring, 
Hid in the drifted snow of its white blooms, 
The merry mimic of our southern woods 
Poured out large waves of gushing melody. 
That overflowed the meadow many a rood. 
And undulated through the pillared trees. 
Our little audience, fallen fast asleep. 
Reminded us of home. So we arose, 
And slowly walking to the house, there sat 
Near the large windows, where the moon shone in 
Upon the carpets, and the Spring's warm breath, 
Sweet as a girl's, came heavy with perfume; 
And, with a bottle of bright, sparkling wine. 
From sunny France, and fitful conversation. 
Sustained awhile, then dying into silence, 
Prolonged our sitting far into the night. 



1845. 



THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 



Our shallop, long with tempest tried, 

Floats calmly down life's tranquil tide; 

Blue skies are laughing overhead. 

The river sparkles in its bed; 

The sunbeams from the waters glancing, 

On the white canvas flashing glisten; 

The small waves round our vessel dancing, 

Melt and dissolve in silver foam. 

And we, in our frail home, 
To the charmed water -music listen. 

We and our little children float, 
Dreaming, in this enchanted boat: 
A gentle and propitious gale. 
Follows, and fills the snowy sail, 
From spicy Southern wildernesses, 
And thickets of acacia blowing, — 

Where dewy morning's golden tresses, 

Shine through the darkling purple gloom 

And, loaded with perfume, 
The sea of air is overflowing. 

Great trees their branches overhead 
Thrust forth, with flowers thick -garlanded; 



—128— 

And while our little bark we steer 
Through the bright rosy atmosphere, 

The thick leaves murmuringly quiver; 
The golden sunlight, floating, flashes 
On green isles jewelling the river. 

On whose smooth, silver- sanded shore, 
Foaming up evermore, 
The current musically plashes. 

But westward a dark, frowning cloud 
Veils the bright river, like a shroud; 
Where, wandering under unknown skies, 

Its course is hidden from our eyes. 

We only know that onward ever, 
Lapsing with fluctuating motion. 

The mighty and majestic river, 

To where the sunset glories fade, 
Through changing light and shade 
Runs to Eternity's broad ocean. 

Between what bleak and desert shores, 
Down what harsh cataracts it pours. 
Over what rocks and treacherous shoals. 
The fretted river hoarsely rolls, 

We know not: We are in God's keeping: 
He loves and will protect us ever. 



—129— 

Now, while our little ones are sleeping, 
Kneel we in earnest prayer to Him 
To guide us through the dim 
And unknown perils of Life's river. 

1845. 



SPRING. 

O, thou delicious Spring! 
Nursed in the lap of thin and subtle showers, 

Raining from clouds exhaled from dews that cling 
To odorous beds of rare and fragrant flowers, 
And honeysuckle bowers. 
That over grassy walks their tendrils fling: 
Come, gentle spring! 

Thou lover of soft winds! 
That wander from the invisible upper sea 

Whose foam the clouds are, when young May unbinds 
Her dewey hair, and with sweet sympathj'^ 
Makes crisp leaves dance with glee, 
Even in the teeth of that old sober hind, 
Winter unkind. 

Come to us ! for thou art 
Like the pure love of children, gentle Spring, 
Filling with delicate pleasure the lone heart; 
Or like a modest virgin's welcoming; 
And thou dost bring 
Fair skies, soft' breezes, bees upon the wing. 
Low murmuring. 



—131— 

Red Autumu, from the South, 
Contends with thee. What beauty can he show? 

What are his purple -stained and rosy mouth, 
And nut-brown cheeks, to thy soft feet of snow, 
And exquisite fresh glow, 
Thy timid flowers, in their sweet virgin growth 
And modest youth? 

Hale Summer follows thee, 
But not with beauty delicate as thine; — 

All things that live rejoice thy face to see; 
But when he comes, they pant for heat, and pine 
For Arctic ice, and wine 
Thick-frozen, sipped under a shady tree, — 
With dreams of thee. 

Come, sit upon our hills, 
Wake the chilled brooks, and send them down their side, 

To make the valleys smile with sparkling rills; 
And when the stars into their places glide, 
And Dian sits in pride, 
I, too, will breathe thine influence that thrills 
The grassy hills. 

Alas! sweet Spring! — not long 
Wilt thou remain, lament thee as we may; 

For as rude Summer waxes stout and strong. 
Thou wilt grow thin and pale, and fade away 



—132— 

As dreams flit, scared at day; 
Thou wilt no more to us or earth belong, 
Except iu song. 

So I, who sing, shall die. 
Worn thin and pale, perhaps, by care and sorrow; 

And, fainting, with a soft, unconscious sigh. 
Bid unto this poor body that I borrow, 
A long good-by, — to-morrow 
To enjoy, I hope, eternal Spring on high, 
Beyond the sky. 



1829. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 



" Should auld acquentanee be forgot, 

"And never brought to min' "? 
" Should auld acquentanee be forgot, 

" And Auld Lang Syne? 

" For Auld Lang Syne, my Jo! 
" For Auld Lang Syne; 
" We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet 
" For Auld Lang Syne." 

"An' surely ye'll your glasses fill, 

"An' surely I'll fill mine, 
"An' we'll tak' a right gude willy-wought 

"For Auld Lang Syne. 

" For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 



'Tis mony a year sin' first we met, 
Wi' song an' jest an' wine. 

And aft we saw the day-star rise 
In Auld Lang Syne, 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 



—134— 

We a' hae had our ups an' doons, 

Great sorrows, joys divine; 
And some hae won, and some hae lost, 

Sin' Auld Lang Syne. 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 

And some hae foemen been, and charged 

In column and in line, 
Each fighting for his flag and faith, 

And Auld Lang Syne. 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 

And they who lost, nae malice bear. 

Nor murmur nor repine; 
And they who won, the losers luve. 

For Auld Lang Syne. 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 

And some hae seen the simmer sun 
On mony a broad land shine. 

And wandered mony a weary foot, 
Sin' Auld Lang Syne. 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 

The laurel and the cypress on 
Some grassy graves entwine, 

Where those are laid who lo'ed us weel 
In Auld Lang Syne. 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 



—135— 

And some we luve, in foreign lands 

To see their ain land pine, 
And backward look, wi' fond regret. 

To Auld Lang Syne. 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 

We a' hae had our luves and hates — 

The hates we a' resign, 
But keep the luves a' fresh and green, 

For Auld Lang Syne. 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc. 

"An' there's a han', each trusty frien', 

"And gi'e's a han' o' thine! 
"An' we'll tak' a right gude- willy wought, 

"For Auld Lang Syne. 

"For Auld Lang Syne, etc." 

An' when we shut the book o' life. 

An' a' of earth resign. 
The memories shall, if sad, be sweet. 

Of Auld Lang Syne.= 

For Auld Lang Syne, etc 



1869. 



THE STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM. 



The Ancient Wrong rules many a land, whose groans 
Rise swarming to the stars by day and night, 

Thronging with mournful clamour round the thrones 
Where the Archangels sit in God's great light. 

And, pitying, mourn to see that Wrong still reigns. 
And tortured Nations writhe in galling chains. 

From Hungary and France fierce cries go up 
And beat against the portals of the skies; 

Lashed Italy still drinks the bitter cup. 
And Germany in abject stupor lies; 

The knout on Poland's bloody shoulders rings, 
And Time is all one jubilee of kings. 

It will not be so always. Through the night 
The suffering multitudes with joy descry 

Beyond the ocean a great beacon -light. 
Flashing its rays into their starless sky, 

And teaching them to struggle and be free, — 
The light of Order, Law, and Liberty. 

Take heart, ye bleeding Nations; and your chains 
Shall shiver like thin glass. The dawn is near, 



—137— 

When Earth shall feel, through all her aged veins 
The new blood pouring; and her drowsy ear 

Hear Freedom's trumpet ringing in the sky, 
Calling her braves to conquer or to die. 

Arm and revolt, and let the hunted stags 
Against the lordly lions stand at bay! — 

Each pass, Thermopylae, and all the crags, 

Young Freedom's fortresses! — and soon the day 

Shall come when Right shall rule, and round the thrones 
That gird God's feet shall eddy no more groans. 

1853. 

10— p 



NIGHT ON THE ARKANSA.^ 



Night comes upon the Arkansa with swift stride, — 
Its dark and turbid waters roll along, 

Bearing wrecked trees and drift, — deep, red, and wide. 

The heavy forests sleeps on either side, 

To the water's edge low -stooping; and among 
The patient stars the moon her lamp has hung. 

Lit with the spirit of the buried sun. 

No blue waves dance the stream's dark bosom on, 
Glittering like beauty's sparkling starry tears; 

No crest of foam, crowning the river dun. 
Its misty ridge of frozen light uprears: 
One sole relief in the great void appears — 

A dark, blue ridge, set sharp against the sky, 

Beyond the forest's utmost boundary. 

Not so wast thou, 0, brave old Merrimac! 
As I remember thee; as thou art seen 

By the Soul's eyes, when, dreaming, I go back 

To my old home, and see the small boats tack 
On thy blue waters, gliding swift between 
The old gray rocks that o'er them fondly lean. 

Their foreheads scarred with lightning. There, around 

*The author spelled Arkansas without the final " s," as it appears 
here, in his privately printed volume of poems, and it seems to have 
been the customary siielling then. 



—ISO- 
Grim capes the surly waterswhirl and bound; 
And here and there grave patriarchal trees 
Persuade the grass to clothe the reluctant ground 
And frowning banks with green. Still villages 
Sleep in the embraces of the cool sea-breeze: — 
Ah, brave old stream! — thou seemest to infold 
My heart within thy waters, as of old. 

. 1838. 



MY NATIVE LAND, MY TENNESSEE. 

[WRITTEN FOR MRS. WASHINGTON BARROW.] 



The Sunset flings upon the Sea 

Its golden gush of life and light; 
The waves with pleasant melody 

On the white sands are sparkling bright; 
Old Ocean, round his many isles, 
Like a fair infant sleeping smiles; — 

So would I sleep, and dream of thee, 

My own, my native land, my Tennessee! 

Tall mountains with their snowy cones. 
Far inland, bathed in sunshine, blaze; 

Like gray -haired giants on their thrones. 

Crowned with the young dawn's golden rays. 

Toward them I lean, and fain would lie 

Guarded by those that pierce thy sky, 
Thou dearest land on earth to me. 
My own, my native laud, my Tennessee! 

Landward and swift the sea-bird flies, 
Dipping his strong and nervous wings 

In the blue waves, as home he hies, 
A truant from his wanderings. 



—141 — 

He goes to seek his geutle mate, 
His young with louging eyes that wait; 
So would I fain haste home to thee, 
My own, my native land, my Tennessee! 

Existence! — 'tis but toil and strife, — 

Yet I'll not murmur or repine, 
So that the Sunset of my life, 

Sweet day! be clear and calm as thine; — 
So that I take my last, long rest. 
Dear native land, on thy loved breast; 

Land of the gallant and the free! 

My own, my native land, my Tennessee! 



1839. 



O DEAREST, O DAINTIEST MIGNONNE! 



O dearest, daintest Mignonne! — 
O Darling! most perfect and rare! — 

What one of all Eve's fairest daughters 
With Mignonne can claim to compare? 

Your gray eyes take captive your lovers, 
Your kisses are each worth a throne; 

Your dear arms and hands would impassion 
A statue of Parian stone. 

Your voice thrills with exquisite pathos. 

In every heart that can feel 
The magic of song and sweet music, 

And of all that these jointly reveal. 

Your lips, curled in scorn, are delicious, 
When you pout, you are lovelier still, — 

When they part, as enchanted I kiss them. 
My soul with glad rapture they thrill. 

Your bosom — we see but its contour. 
And dream of its beauties divine; 

So was Paradise closed against Adam, 
As Love veils his holiest shrine. 



—143— 

Tour dear little lillj'-stem fingers 

Weave nets for the catching of hearts; 

Your tresses make fetters to bind them, — 
The slaves of your mischievous arts. 

Your little feet make sweetest music, 
Your ankle one's fingers can span; — 

What exquisite charms do you hide from 
The eyes of inquisitive man! 

My heart struggles hard in your meshes, 

Like a bird in a merciless hand; 
I'm your captive, your servant, your bondman, 

Obedient to every command. 

Capricious and willful, but loving. 

Offended, you quickly forgive; 
For you know that I love you so dearly, 

I must cease, if you do not, to live. 

You smile. Heaven's golden gates open, — 
With light heart all dangers we dare; 

You frown, — and the gates shut behind us. 
We sink in the pit of despair. 



—144— 

O dearest, O daintiest Mignonne! 

O Darling! most perfect and sweet! — 
On my heart, if you will, you can trample, 

For 'tis under your delicate feet. 

1868. 



''AFTER THE MIDNIGHT 
COMETH MORN." 

[A SONG, DEDICATED TO SENORITA CAROLINA CASSARD.] 



The Years come, and the Years go, 
And the leaves of life keep falling, 

Queridita! " 

And across the sunless river's flow. 
With accents soft and whisper's low. 
The friends long lost are calling, 
Queridita ! 
While Autumn his red glory wears. 
And clouds oppress the sky, like cares: — 

Bwl the old griefs die, and new joys are horn, 
And always after Midnight cometh Morn. 

The Years wake, and the Years sleep, 
And the Past is full of sorrow, 
Queridita ! 
The thoughtless laughs and the thoughtful weeps, 
And each the fruit of his follies reaps, 
For To-day is the Fate of To-morrow, 
Queridita ! 
But new loves tempt us to forget 
The old, and old friends love us yet: — 

So the old griefs die, and new joys are horn, 
And ahvays after Midnight cotneth Morn. 



—146— 

The Years laugh, and the Years sigh, 
But the flowers for you are blowing, 
Queridita ! 
As Girlhood's days go dancing by, 
And Womanhood's blithe May is nigh, 
With hopes and fancies glowing, 
Queridita ! 
While Love his nets for you prepares, 
And lurks to catch you unawares; — 

And the old griefs die, and new joys are horn, 
And always after Midnight cometh Morn. 

The Years live, and the Years die. 
And all they touch they sadden, 
Queridita ! 
But still the heart can Time defy, 
Hope still with purple flush our sky. 
And sober friendship gladden, 
Queridita ! 
And well as we have loved before, 
In Autumn we can love once more: — 

For the old griefs die, and neiv joys are horn, 
And always after Midnight cometh Morn. 

Querida mia! 1870. 



THE WIDOWED HEART. 

LACHRYMJE PONDERA VOCIS HABENT. 

TRISTIS ERIS, SI SOLUS ERIS: DOMINIQUE RELICTS 

ANTE OCULOS FACIES STABIT, XJT IPSA, TUOUS. 



Thou art lost to me forever! — I have lost thee, Isadore! 
Thy head will never rest upon my loyal bosom more; 
Thy tender eyes will never more look fondly into mine, 
Nor thine arms around me lovingly and trustingly entwine, — 
Thou are lost to me forever, Isadore! 

Thou art dead and gone, dear loving wife, thy heart is 

still and cold, 
And mine, benumbed with wretchedness, is prematurely old: 
Of our whole world of love and joy thou wast the only 

light, 
A star, whose setting left behind, ah me! how dark a 

night! — 

Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! 

The vines and flowers we planted, Love, I tend with anx- 
ious care, 

And yet they droop and fade away, as though they wanted 
air: 



—148— 

They cannot live without thine eyes to feed them with 

their light: 
Since thy hands ceased to train them, Love, they cannot 

grow aright; — 

Thou art lost to them forever, Isadore! 

Our little ones inquire of me, where is their mother gone, — 
What answer can I make to them, except with tears alone? 
For if I say, "To Heaven," then the poor things wish to 

learn 
How far it is, and where, and when their mother will 

return : — 

Thou art lost to them forever, Isadore! 

Our happy home has now become a lonely, silent place; 
Like Heaven without its stars it is, without thy blessed 

face : 
Our little ones are still and sad; — none love them now 

but I, 
Except their mother's spirit, which I feel is always nigh! — 
Thou lovest us in Heaven, Isadore! 

Their merry laugh is heard no more, they neither run nor 
play, 

But wander round like little ghosts, the long, long Sum- 
mer-day: 



—149— 

The spider weaves his web across the windows at his will, 
The flowers I gathered for thee last are on the mantel still, — 
Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! 

Restless I pace our lonely rooms, I play our songs no 

more, 
The garish Sun shines flauntingly upon the unswept floor; 
The mocking-bird still sits and sings, melancholy 

strain ! 
For my heart is like an Autumn -cloud that overflows 

with rain; 

Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! 

Alas! how changed is all, dear wife, from that sweet eve 

in Spring, 
When first my love for thee was told, and thou to me 

didst cling. 
Thy sweet eyes radiant through their tears, pressing thy 

lips to mine. 
In our old arbor, Dear, beneath the over -arching vine; — 
Those lips are cold forever, Isadore! 

The moonlight struggled through the leaves, and fell upon 

thy face, 
So lovingly upturning there, with pure and trustful gaze; 



—150— 

The Southern breezes murmured through the dark cloud 

of thy hair, 
As like a happy child thou didst in my arms nestle there; — 
Death holds thee now forever, Isadore! 

Thy love and faith so plighted then, with mingled smile 

and tear, 
Was never broken. Darling, while we dwelt together here: 
Nor bitter word, nor dark, cold look thou ever gavest me — 
Loving and trusting always, as I loved and worshipped 

thee; — 

Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! 

Thou wast my nurse in sickness, and my comforter in health, 
So gentle and so constant, when our love was all our wealth: 
Thy voice of music cheered me. Love, in each despondent hour, 
As Heaven's sweet honey -dew consoles the bruised and 
broken flower; — 

Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! 

Thou art gone from me forever; — I have lost thee, Isadore! 
And desolate and lonely I shall be forevermore: 
Our children hold me. Darling, or I to God should pray 
To let me cast the burthen of this long, dark life away. 
And see thy face in Heaven, Isadore! 



THE DEAD CHASE. 

A LEGEND. 



A morning of early June, — 

The wind slept cradled in leaves, 
And the throstles were singing a soft low tune, 

In the ivy under the eaves. 

The silver brooklets murmured 

Sweet music in the grass; 
As the faint tones of an organ 

Swell at the evening mass. 

The velvet sward, like a smooth, green sea. 

Glittered and flashed incessantly, 

With dewy diamonds of the dawn, 

Through which went springing the spotted fawn; 

And the snake lay idly across the path, 

That wound amid the vibrating swath. 

Within the deep -green heavy glooms, 
Were beds of orange and crimson blooms. 
Whose sweet perfume and odor stole 
To the inmost crypts of the grateful soul, 
Like harmonies faintly heard, that seem 
The sweet, sad memories of a dream. 



—152— 

The lily grew iu the shade, 

And the dew-drop lay in its blossom, 
Like a rosy diamond, laid 

On a virgin's snow}' bosom: 

The heart of the crimson rose was blushing 

At the kisses of the sun ; 
Like the cheek of a timid maiden, flushing 

After her heart is won, 

A wall of cliffs half ringed the dell 

That sheltered by it slept; 
In one gray crag a hollowed cell 
Near which a leaping torrent fell. 

And a Hermit his vigils kept. 

A snowy mountain, close behind, 

Shot upward like a flame. 
From which with a roar like a mighty wind 

The headlong river came. 

A man once proud and stately. 

Now haggard with despair; 
Whose scared eyes, straining, seem to see 

Far off some great calamity; 

Some terror, darkening all the air. 

And armed with nameless agony. 



—153— 

The woodlark, from her low nest, toward 

The sky shot, like a dart, 
Gladly carolling as she soared 

Into the sky's blue heart. 

He neither heeds, nor hears, nor sees, 

Nature to him is dumb, 
And all her charming coquetries 

Have odious become. 

His face grows dark; no longer now 

His soul its dread obeys; 
His eyes that full of anguish were, 

Like a hunted tiger's blaze. 

A sound came clashing past. 

On the wings of the startled air, 

Like the sound of hoofs that far and fast 
A reckless rider bear. 

The eagle rose from the trackless snows. 
Where he sat like a king on his throne; 

And high he flew, where the sunlight through 
His dark gray plumage shone; 

Unfolded his heart in a wild scream there, 

And fanned with his wings the morning air. 

11— p 



—154— 

A great steed came, like a mighty rain, 
Down the steep mountain's side; 
Thick as a storm his flowing mane, — 

A horse for a Prince to ride. 
He stopped before the Hermit's cell, 
Like a statue of stone, immovable. 

And near this courser stood 

A black hound, with fresh blood 

About his feet and upon his jaws; 
His teeth v\^ere long, and sharp, and white. 
Left by his curling lips in sight; 

His strong feet fanged with claws. 

He bayed not, and he made no moan, 
But beside the steed he sat like stone, 

And looked in the Hermit's eye: 
What want they with the Hermit, 

That on him thus thej' stare, — 
That hound so fiery- eyed, that steed, 

A stern and silent pair? 

The Hermit shuddered at the sight. 

But never a word he said; 
Only his lips became as white 

As the marble lips of the dead. 



—155— 

Slowly he comes to the steed that waits, 

As men walk iu their sleep; 
As birds that a serpent fascinates 

Into their jaws do creep. 

Now springs he upon the courser's back, 

Saddle and bridle none; 
The hound has risen, and, bajdng loud, 

Down the green slope has gone. 

Uprose the sun; the steed sped on; 

His hoofs the green sward tore; 
Over stream and hill, through brake and dell, 

While the hound bayed on before. 

He came to a river broad and deep; 

Its waves ran high, its banks were steep; 

He made nor stop nor stay. 
But plunging in, through the loud din 

Of its rapids stretched away. 

Over sharp rocks and hillsides bald. 
Where the spotted adder sleeps, — 

Through forests as green as emerald, — 
As the tyrannous tempest sweeps. 

All day, all day, he stretched away, 
And the tramp of his hoofs was heard, 



—156— 

Like au earthquake's foot, when his fiery heart 
In his adamant eaves is stirred. 

All day, all day, he stretched away, 

Till the gentle moon uprose, 
And her soft, pale rays kissed Night's sweet face, 

The firs and the mountain -snows. 

And then he was heard careering up 

That mountain's rocky side; 
The eternal ice -crags crowned its top. 
And the streams that poured from the Giant's cup, 

Rushed foaming down his side. 

And now he follows the black sleuth-hound. 

On a glacier's frozen sea. 
Grinding to snow with his iron hoof 
Its still, green waves' transparent woof. 
That since God gave the world its form. 
Defies the lightning and the storm. 

Midnight ! midnight! The horse has stopped; 

The moon stands still, likewise; 
Without a mist, without a cloud. 

The stars have shut their eyes. 

The black hound circles round the steed: 
Loud baying, — long and loud; 



— 157— 

The Hermit sits as pale as Death: 
But his eye is hard and proud. 

A spectre comes athwart the moon; 

Her light gleams through its bones 
A cold wind rushes swiftlj^ by, 

All eddying with groans. 

The mist of its long yellow hair 

Floats like a ragged cloud; 
What does the skeleton, without 

A winding-sheet or shroud"? 

Out-springs the great black hound again; 

Once more the scent is won; 
Leap after leap, bay after bay: 
He and the horse stretch far away; — 

They chase the skeleton! 

Day comes at last. The night is past, 

But still the hunt holds on; 
On hound and horse and spectre shine 

The red rays of the sun. 

Slow, slow as Death, Time draws his breath; 

'Tis a wearjr space to noon; 
And high and high the sun's red eye 

Shines, shadowy, like the moon. 



—158— 

A desert stretches every way; 

Dawn's crimson and dusk Evening's gray 

Rest upon either edge; 
The wind above it sighs alway; 

Like the sighing of thin sedge. 

In the middle of the desert 

The horse and hound have stopped; 

The hunted skeleton, likewise: 
Upon the earth has dropped. 

The hound lies panting bj"- its side: 
With his red nostrils open wide; 

His eyes like torches glare: 
The rider too has left his steed: 

And sitteth speechless there. 

Through his long hair the sharp wind moans: 

But all beside is still; 
He cannot choose but gaze upon 
The green bones of the skeleton; 

Through which the breezes thrill. 

All day they sat in the desert: 

Till the siin slid down the sky: 
And in the west his lids of mist 

Were folded over his eye. 



—159— 

Then in the west a shape appeared: 

Between them and the sun; 
Nearer and nearer yet it drew: 
Until an armed man it grew: 

A mail-clad destrier on. 

" What dost thou here with hound and horse: 

" Without a shield or spear? 
" And why dost watch that skeleton: 

" So mossy, green, and sere? 

" What dost thou here? Twilight draws near: 

" The weary Day recedes; 
" Night's pilots her dark galley steer 
"Among the trembling stars; while here 

" Thou tellest over thy beads: — 

" What dost thou here? " "Alight and learn: 

" 'Tis long to mirk midnight: 
" Another sun will set, before 

" Thou seest thy lady bright. 

"Alight! I have a tale to tell: 

" It will profit thee to hear: — 
" That will vibrate in thy memory 

" For many a long, long year." 



—160— 

The Knight has leaped from his destrier, 
And sits by the Hermit's side, 

And listens to a strange, wild tale, 
There in the desert wide. 

" A ehase was held, long years ago, 

" On a sunny day of June, 
" Where a hundred noble horsemen rode, 

" From morning till high noon, 

" With wanton glee and revehy, 

" While the hounds before them ran; 

" For, clad in steel, on strong, fleet steeds, 
" They chased an outlawed man. 

" For many an hour we chased the game; 

" Hound after hound fell back, 
" Till, man by man, I passed them all, 

"And my strong hound led the pack. 

" All night led on the deep-mouthed hound; 

" And all night followed I; 
" The wayward moon went slowly down, 

" The white stars left the sky. 

"Uprose the sun; my hound kept on, 

" My good horse faltered not; 
"And when the sun was in the south, 

" I reached this desert spot. 



—161— 

"The Heretic lay here. Ah, God! 

" That I that sight should see! 
"His dead, dead eyes were opened wide, 

"And sadly gazed at me. 

"His flesh was torn, his bones were bare, 

"All mangled was his head, 
"And by his side my gaunt sleuth-hound 

"Lay, with his jaws blood-red. 

"I sate down by the dead man's side; 

"I had no power to go; 
"Methought that Time also was dead, 

"His feet went by so slow. 

" My good hound fawned upon my breast, 
"And kindly too I him caressed; 

"My tears did freely flow; 
"I thoug"ht he was my only friend, 

"And God Himself my foe. 

"Alas! that weary afternoon! 

"Nor sight nor sound came by; 
"Only the lonesome wind, that through 

"The dead man's hair did sigh. 

" The moon uprist, swathed in gray mist, 

"And up the heaven stole, 
"While from the dead man's eyes, her light 

"Pierced to my inmost soul. 



—162— 

"The cold wind swept across the plain, 

"And savored of the sea; 
"It came from my dear, sunny home, 

"Lost like a dream to me. 

"The corpse's pale lips then unclosed, 
"His teeth in the moonlight shone, 

"I sat and wept and beat my breast, 
"Till close upon night's noon. 

"Out of the chalice of the east, 
"Dark clouds began to ri^e, 

" Mass upon mass, and broad and fast, 
"Red currents crossed the skies; 

"And a moaning sound grew up afar, 

"Like music in the air; 
"It circled round and round the dead, 

' ' And wailed and murmured there ; 

"A star slid down from heaven's roof, 

"And nestled by his head; 
"I knew it was his spirit, come 

"With me to watch the Dead. 

"And by its light, — oh, sad, sad sight! 

"Two shadows I could see; 
" One sate on either side, both gazed 

"By turns on him and me. 



—163— 

" A soft light from their snowy hair 

" Fell on his dead, pale face; 
" They were his mother and his sire, 

" Come from their heavenly place, 
" To watch their dead, dead, mangled son, 

" The last of all their race. 

" Ah, God! those eyes did search my soul, 

' ' So calm and sad they were ; 
" They were a conscience unto me, 

" And yet I could not stir. 

" The dark clouds folded over the moon, 

" Like a wild rushing river, 
" The lightning in the stormy east 

" From bank to bank did quiver. 

" Peal upon peal the thunder spoke, — 

" My soul it did rejoice; 
" Me from that death in life it woke, 

" Like an old schoolmate's voice. 

" That star still shone, in light or gloom, 
" Like light in a dead man's eye; 

" Those white-haired shadows never stirred, 
" But still sat calmly by. 



—164— 

" Again I had the power to move, 
" And I turned away mine eye; 
" Between me and the clouds I saw 
"A troop come hurrying by. 

" With eager course they, man and horse, 
" Like the wind of a tempest pressed; 

" The lightning glittered through their shapes, 
"As it glitters through the mist. 

" This shadowy army of the dead, 

" Rushed by me like the wind, 
"Before, the thunder -hounds did bay, 

" And a tempest howled behind. 

" And, as they swept by me, I knew 

" Each wan and ghastly face; 
" Oh, God! how changed, since I and they 

"Began that awful chase! 

" The corse's spirit -star was quenched, 

"As they came hurtling past, 
"And he uprose as if alive, 

" And before the troop fled fast. 

" My hound sprang forward on the track 

"Of the dead, bay after bay, 
" My horse, too, joined the spectral host, 
" And madly dashed away. 



—165— 

"All night the fierce storm roared around, 

"And the thunder's constant roll; 
"But still the gray-haired shadow's voice, 
" Was heard above the tempest's noise, 
" Like moans within the soul. 

"And every year, this very night, 

" That chase is held again: 
"Again the skeleton flits fast 

" Before that phantom -train. 

"And every year, the very day 

" When we began the chase, 
" No matter where my weary heart 

" Has found a resting-place; 

"No matter where I dwell, my horse 

" And hound come back to me; 
"I cannot choose but mount, and thus 

" The horrid hunt have we. 

"And here, yea, even here, the chase 

" Fails never to be stopped; 
" And here, this day, these mouldering bones, 

"Moss-grown and green, have dropped. 



—166— 

" I am a wretched, lonely man, 

" No friend, no home, no God; 
" Who many a year, through many a clime, 

" My weary way have trod, — 
" Alas! I would that I could lay 

" My head beneath the sod! 

" The white hair of those parents lies 

" Like a shadow on my soul; 
" In dreams his sightless eyeballs burn 

" My worn heart like a coal. 

" I pray to Heaven by night and day, 

" My tears flow like the rain; 
"And yet my useless cries procure 

"No peace: I pray in vain. 

" I dream that I was once a child, 

" No bird more blithe and gay, 
" My young heart, like a honey-bee, 

" That hums the live -long day: 
" But now it is a maimed bird, 

" That mourns its life away." 

" God help thee, man! Thy crime was great, 

" But in the eye of Heaven, 
" Repentance may atone for all, — 

" Thy great sin be forgiven. 



—167— 

"So we must dig a grave, and lay 
" These mouldering bones therein, — 

"Perhaps they there may rest, until 
" The great assize begin. 

" And we must pray to God on high 

"And his beloved Son, 
" To shed their gentle, genial rain 

" Of love thy heart upon. 

" So shall thy great sin be atoned, 

" The murdered so forgive; 
" And like the dead man touched by Christ, 

" Thou shalt arise and live." 

With sword and battle-axe, the twain 

Full earnestly did work. 
While round them from the eastern caves 

Night gathered, thick and mirk. 

The moon arose, the gentle stars 

Opened their lustrous eyes; 
The spirit -star sate near the dead. 

The shadows came likewise. 

Before the moon fared overhead. 
The grave was hollowed deep. 
And earnestly they cried to Heaven, 



—168— 

To pardon and to keep 
The soul whose sin had been so great, 
And its remorse so deep. 

The Hermit kneeled bj^ the skeleton, 

His thick tears wet the bones, 
Like echoes from his inmost soul. 

He uttered earnest moans. 

His tears fell on the spirit -star. 
And it blazed like a shaft of fire; 

While music stole from the shadows' lips 
Like the murmuring of a lyre. 

They laid the bones within the grave, 

They piled the sods thereon, 
And many a fervent prayer they prayed. 

After this toil was done. 

The white star circled thrice around 

The sodded grave above. 
And the Hermit felt a load of woe 

From his anguished heart remove; 
For the light of the shadows' glittering hair 
Sank into his soul and nestled there. 

Like a dream of gentle love. 



—169— 

The moon that stood right overhead, 
Was quenched as 'twere a lamp, 

And a cold wind woke, and flitted by. 
Its dark wings chill and damp. 

Afar upon' the east rang out, 

A wild, fierce, startling bay, 
And through the misty fields of foam, 

Careered the wild array. 

Till, near tlje grave, like a rushing wave, 

The spectral huntsmen halt. 
And circling round, each shadowy hound 

Bays loudly, as at fault. 

The star, arising from the grave, 
Slowly towards Heaven soared. 

And from it a great snowy light 
Upon the Hermit poured. 

Faint music from the pale, sad lips 
Of the gray -haired shadows stole. 

And filled the mute, delighted air. 
And soothed the Hermit's soul. 

Shrill cries were heard, the air was stirred, 

As if wings rustled there, 
And the spectral huntsmen melted, like 

Thin shadows, into air. 

12-P 



—170— 

Then through the lonely desert rung 
The ^oliau harps of Heaven 

And angel-voices sweetly suug, 
" The guilty is forgiven; 

" Calm, calm thy troubled soul to peace! 
" Thy chains of tvoe are riven J ^ 



LOVE BLOOMS BUT ONCE." 

A SONG. 



When Autumn's chilly winds complain 

And red leaves withered fall, 
We know that Spring will laugh again, 

And leaf and flower recall. 

But when Love's saddening Autumn wears 

The hues that death presage, 
No Spring in Winter's lap prepares 

A second Golden Age. 

So when Life's Autumn sadly sighs, 

Yet smiles its cold tears through, 
No Spring, with warm and sunny skies, 

The Soul's youth will renew. 

Love blooms but once and dies — for all, — 

Life has no second Spring: 
The frost must come, the snow must fall, 

Loud as the lark may sing. 

O Love! O Life! 3^e fade like flowers. 

That droop and die in June; 

The present, ah! too short, is ours; 

And Autumn comes too soon. 

1865. 



TO A ROBIN. 



WRITTEN IN NEW MEXICO ON HEARING THE SONG OF THE ONLY 
RED -BREAST I EVER SAW THERE. 



Hush, where art thou clinging, 
And what art thou singing, 
Bird of my own native land? 
Thy song is as sweet as a fairy's feet 
Stepping on silver sand. 
And thou art now 
As merry as though thou wert singing at home, 

Far away, in the spray 
Of a warm shower raining through odorous gloom; 
Or as if thou wert hid, to the tip of thy wing, 
By a broad oaken leaf in its greenness of Spring, 
With thy nest lurking 'mid a gray heaven of shade, 
To protect thy dear young from all harm fitly made. 

Hush, hush! Look around thee! 
Bleak mountains impound thee. 

Cliffs gloomy, rocks barren and dead; 
A desolate pine doth above thee incline. 
But yields not a leaf for thy bed. 



—173— 

And lo! below, 
No flowers of beauty or radiance bloom, 

But weeds, — grayheads, — 
U That mutter and moan when the wind- tides loom. 
And the rain never falls in the warm, sunny Spring, 
To freshen thy heart or to strengthen thy wing. 
But thou livest a hermit these deserts among. 
Where Echo alone makes reply to thy song. 

And while thou art chanting, 
With head thus up -slanting, 

Thou seemest a thought or a vision. 
That flits with quick haste o'er the heart's lonely waste, 
With an influence soothing, elysian: 
Or a lone sweet tone, 
That sounds for a time in the ear of sorrow; — 

Ah! .soon, too soon, 
I must bid thee a long and a sad good morrow: — 
But if thou wilt turn to the South thy wing, 
I will meet thee again at the end of Spring, 
And thy nest may be made where the peach and the vine 
Shall shade thee, and tendril and leaf shall entwine. 

Art thou not a stranger, and darer of danger. 
That over these mountains hast flown"? — 
For the land of the North is the clime of thy birth, 
And here thou, like me, art alone. 
Go back on thj^ track; — 



—174— 

It were wiser and better for thee and ine, 
Than to moan, alone, 

So far from the waves of our own bright sea; — 
Then the eyes that we left to grow dim, months ago, 
Will greet us again with their idolized glow. 
Let us haste, then, sweet bird, to revisit our home. 
Where the oak -leaves are green, and the sea -waters foam. 

1832. 



FAREWELL TO NEW ENGLAND. 



Farewell to thee, New England! 

Farewell to thee and thine! 
Good-bye to leafy Newbury, 

And Rowley's hills of pine! 

Farewell to thee, brave Merrimac! 

Good -by! old heart of blue! 
May I but find, returning, 

That all, like thee, are true! 

Farewell to thee, old Ocean! 

Gray father of mad waves! 
Whose surge with constant motion 

Against the granite raves. 

Farewell to thee, old Ocean! 

I shall see thy face once more. 
And watch thy mighty waves again, 

Along my own bright shore. 

Farewell the White Hill's summer snow, 

Ascutney's cone of green ! 
Farewell Monadnock's regal glow. 

Old Holyoke's emerald sheen. 



—176— 

Farewell gray hills, broad lakes, sweet dells, 
Green fields, trout -peopled brooks! 

Farewell the old familiar bells! 
Good-bj'^e to home and books! 

Good-bye to all! To friend and foe! 

Few foes I leave behind; 
I bid to all, before I go, 

A long farewell and kind. 

Proud of thee am I, noble land! 

Home of the fair and brave! 
Thy motto evermore should stand, 

"Honor, or honor's grave!" 

Whether I am on ocean tossed, 
Or hunt where the wild-deer run, 

Still shall it be my proudest boast. 
That I'm New England's son. 

So a health to thee. New England! 

In a parting cup of wine ! 
Farewell to leafy Newbury, 

And Rowley's woods of Pine! 

1831. 



BUENA VISTA. 



From the Rio Grand's waters to the icy lakes of Maine, 

Let all exult! for we have met the enemy again: 

Beneath their stern old mountains we have met them in 

their pride, 
And rolled from Buena Vista back the battle's bloody tide; 
Where the enemy came surging swift, like the Mississippi's 

flood, 
And the reaper. Death, with strong arms swung his sickle > 

red with blood. 

Santana boasted loudly that, before two hours were past, 
His Lancers through Saltillo should pursue us fierce and 

fast: — 
On comes his solid infantry, line marching after line; 
Lo! their great standards in the sun like sheets of silver 

shine; 
With thousands upon thousands, — yea, with more than 

three to one, — 
Their forest of bright bayonets fierce -flashing in the sun. 

Lo! Guanajuato's regiment, Morelos' boasted corps, 
And Guadalajara's choosen troops! — all veterans tried 
before. 



—178— 

Lo! galloping upon the right four thousand lances gleam, 
Where, floating in the morning wind, their blood-red 

pennons stream; 
And here his stern artillery climbs up the broad plateau: 
To-day he means to strike at us an overwhelming blow. 

Now, Wool, hold strongly to the heights! for, lo! the 

mighty tide 
Comes, thundering like an avalanche, deep, terrible, and 

wide. 
Now, Illinois, stand steady! Now, Kentucky, to their 

aid! 
For a portion of our line, alas! is broken and dismaj-ed: 
Great bands of shameless fugitives are fleeing from the 

field, 
And the day is lost, if Illinois and brave Kentucky yield. 

One of O'Brien's guns is gone! — On, on their masses 

drift, 
Till their cavalry and infantry outflank us on the left; 
Our light troops, driven from the hills, retreat in wild 

dismay. 
And round us gathers, thick and dark, the Mexican array. 
Santana thinks the day is gained; for, now approaching 

near, 
Minon's dark cloud of Lancers sternly menaces our rear. 



—179— 

Now, Lincoln, gallant gentleman, lies dead upon the field, 
Who strove to stay those cravens, when before the storm 

thej^ reeled. 
Fire, Washington, fire fast and true! Fire, Sherman, 

fast and far! 
Lo! Bragg comes thundering to the front, to breast the 

adverse war! 
Santana thinks the day is gained! On, on his masses 

crowd, 
And the roar of battle swells again more terrible and loud. 

Not yet! — Our brave old General comes to regain the 

day; — 
Kentucky, to the rescue! Mississippi, to the fray! 
Again our line advances! Gallant Davis fronts the foe. 
And back before his rifles, in red waves the Lancers flow. 
Upon them yet once more, ye brave! — The avalanche is 

stayed ! 
Back roll the Aztec multitudes, all broken and dismayed. 

Ride! May! — To Buena Vista! for the Lancers gain our 

rear. 
And we have few troops there to cheek their vehement 

career. 
Charge, Arkansas! Kentucky, charge! Yell, Porter, 

Vaughan, are slain. 



—180— 

But the shattered troops cling desperately unto that crim- 
soned plain; 
Till, with the Lancers intermixed, pursuing and pursued. 
Westward, in combat hot and close, drifts off the multitude. 

And May comes charging from the hills with his ranks of 

flaming steel, 
While shattered with a sudden fire, the foe already reel: 
They flee amain! — Now to the left, to stay the torrent there, 
Or else the day is surely lost, in horror and despair! 
For their hosts pour swiftly onward, like a river in the 

Spring, 
Our flank is turned, and on our left their cannon thun- 
dering. 

Now, good Artillery! bold Dragoons! Steady, brave 

hearts! — be calm! — 
Through rain, cold hail and thunder, now nerve each gallant 

arm! 
What though their shot fall round us here, yet thicker than 

the hail? 
We'll stand against them, as the rock stands fi.rm against 

the gale. 
Lo! their battery is silenced! but our iron sleet still 

showers. 
They falter, halt, retreat! — Hurrah ! the glorious day is ours! 



—181— 

In front, too, has the fight gone well, where, upon gallant 

Lane, 
And on stout Mississippi, the thick Lancers charged in 

vain : 
Ah! brave Third Indiana! yon have nobly wiped away 
The reproach that through another corps befell your State 

to-day; 
For back, all broken and dismayed, before your storm of 

fire, 
Santana's boasted chivalry, a shattered wreck, retire. 

Now charge again, Santana! or the day is surely lost — 
For back, like broken waves, along our left your hordes 

are tossed. 
Still faster roar his batteries, — his whole reserve moves on; 
More work remains for us to do, ere the good fight is won. 
Now for your wives and children, men! Stand steady yet 

once more! 
Fight for your lives and honors! Fight as you never 

fought before! 

Ho! Hardin breasts it bravely! and heroic Bissell there 
Stands firm before the storm of balls that fill the astonished 

air: 
The Lancers dash upon them too! The foe swarm ten to 

one: 



—182— 

Hardin is slain ; McKee and Clay the last time see the sun : 
And many another gallant heart, in that last desperate fray, 
Grew cold, its last thoughts turning to its loved ones, far 
away. 

Speed, speed. Artillery! to the front! — for the hurricane 

of fire 
Crushes those noble regiments, reluctant to retire! 
Speed swiftly! Gallop! Ah! they come! Again Bragg 

climbs the ridge, 
And his grape sweeps down the swarming foe, as a strong 

man moweth sedge: 
Thus baflled in their last attack, compelled perforce to yield. 
Still menacing in firm array, their columns leave the field. 

The guns still roared at intervals: but silence fell at last. 
And on the dead and dying came the evening shadows fast. 
And then above the mountains rose the cold moon's silver 

shield, 
And patiently and pitying she looked upon the field. 
While careless of his wounded, and neglectful of his dead, 
Despairingly and sullenly by night Santana fled. 

And thus on Buena Vista's heights a long day's work 

was done. 
And thus our brave old General another battle won. 



—183— 

Still, still our glorious banner waves, unstained by flight 

or shame, 
And the Mexicans among their hills still tremble at our 

name. 

So, HONOR UNTO THOSE THAT STOOD! DISGRACE TO THOSE 
THAT pled! 

And everlasting glory unto BUENA VISTA'S DEAD ! 

February 28, 1847. 



NOON IN SANTA FEE. 



The sun shines dull in the mist amid, 

That, like a grief, is shading him; 
And though the mountains be not hid. 

Their distant blue is faint and dim. 
Yet marking with their outline deep 

The paler blue that bends above. 
The winds have moaned themselves to sleep, 

And scarcely now their soft wings move. 
With an unquiet, slumberous motion, 

Watched by the pale, mute, flitting Noon, — 
That wanderer of Earth and Ocean, 

Whose stay all men desire, but none obtain the boon. 

It is the hour for saddened thought, 

When all things have a softened tone, — 
A dream -like indistinctness, fraught 

With all that makes man feel alone. 
Perhaps the hour and time it is, 

That in the sad and dreaming heart 
Make gray Time's ancient images 

Into a new distinctness start; 



—185— 

Till all that 1 have lost or left, 

Or loved or worshipped iu my youth, 
Comes up like an unwelcome gift, 
With all the sad and stern reality of truth. 

The troubled image of the Past, 

Its buried j^ears, before me rise; 
And gazing in the distant vast, 

Dim shapes I see, with saddened eyes, 
Like those that I have known before, 

But altered, as I, too, have changed: 
Many that near my heart I wore. 

Some long ago from me enstranged. 
Ah! yes! I know that sad fair face, 

That matchless form, that witchery. 
Thy step of air, thy winning grace, — 

I see thee, loved one! in the dim obscurity. 

Fair Fancy, Memory's sister, weaves 

No golden web of hope for me. 
Or, if she smile, she still deceives 

With all a wanton's mockery; — 
She points me to a fireless hearth, 

And, — that most sharp and bitter sting, 

We feel upon the lonely earth, — 

Cold looks and colder welcoming: 
13— p * 



—186— 

Friends washed off by life's ebbiug tide, 

Like sands along the' shifting coasts, 
The soul's first love another's bride; 

And other melancholy thoughts that haunt like ghosts. 

Well, I have chosen my own rough way, 

And I will walk it manfully; 
And do the best that mortal may, 

Wherever duty leadeth me. 
No heart that is not wholly cold, 

Can help but love, can help but hate; 
What malice knows will sure be told, — 

Libels on all distinction wait: 
But as the misty mountain -mane 

Doth not for ever shade its blue. 
So vanishes each slander -stain 

From all who earnestly and well their duty do. 

1832. 



RE-UNION. 



Let us drink, together, fellows, as we did in days of yore. 
And still enjoy the golden hours that Fortune has in store, 
The absent friends remembered be, in all that's sung or said, 
And Love immortal consecrate the memory of the dead. 

Fill every goblet to the brim? — let every heart be filled 
With kindly recollections, and all bitter ones be stilled! 
Come round me, dear old fellows, and in chorus as we sing, 
Life's Autumn days shall be as glad as were its days of Spring. 

Drink, Brothers, to the absent who are living, first of all, 
While each familiar name and face we lovingly recall! 
The generous and brave and good! The kind, and frank, 

and true, 
Who knew not how false word to speak or what was base 

to do. 

We see the faces of the Dead; they hover in the air, 
And looking on us lovingly, our mirth they seem to share; 
O dearly loved! though ye have gone to other stars or 

spheres. 
We still have for you thoughts of love and consecrated 

tears. 



—188— 

Pour a libation rich with love upon the graves that hold 
The ashes of the gallant hearts that long ago grew cold; 
And swear that never party feuds or civil war shall break 
Our bonds of love, and enemies of friends and comrades 
make. 

The Dead are with us always, friends! let us their teach- 
ings heed! 

"Forgive thy brother, if he err!" they eloquently plead: 

"Let bygones be bygones!" thej^ cry; "let the old love 
revive ! 

"And on the altars of your hearts keep Friendship's fire 
alive." 

It is better far to love than hate, for Nations as for men; 

Let us hope the good old humour soon will bless the land 
again : 

But if the politicians still should wrangle, scold, and fight, 

Their quarrels shall not break the ties that we re-knit to- 
night. 

Our Autumn days of life have come, the frosts begin to fall. 
Beyond the dark, deep river, hark! we hear old comrades call. 
To the Dead and Living whom each loves, let each his 

goblet fill; 
And the memory of the dead shall make the living dearer still. 

Washington, January, 1869. 



ANNIE. 

The golden, climbing jasmine grows 
Along the bright, clear Ouachita: 

On each bewildered wind that blows. 

Its sweet perfume there overflows. 
And, eddying, floats afar. 

It is a wild, sweet, simple flower. 
Each leaf a glossy evergreen, — 

And when the spring- rains softly shower, 
Its jewelled ringlets, gold and green, 
Float on the charmed air, between 
The stately trees, that overlean 
The sunny Ouachita. 

Up each tall oak and sturdy ash. 
And elm, along the Ouachita, 

Where dew-drops on the thick leaves plash, 

Its flowers like beauty's glad eyes flash, 
Each a bright golden star, — 

Tempting the mad bees there to roam. 
Great misers, adding to their store 

Of honey, in their hollow home, 
In that great branching sycamore, 
Around whose knees the waters roar, 
A dozen centuries or more, 
On sunny Ouachita. 



—190— 

I love its simple flowers that gleam 
Along the silver Ouachita: 

I love the bright, clear, dancing stream, 

For there I dreamed a happy di'eam, 
Brief, as all such dreams are. 

I met my little Annie there, 

A dear, sweet, lovely, blushing maid, 

A flower as delicate and fair 

As those I twined with each dark braid 
Of glossy hair, while far we strayed. 
Wrapt in the green trees' pleasant shade, 
By sunny Ouachita. 

Her soft eyes, and her angel face. 
Like sunshine, blessed the Ouachita: 

And blushing in my fond embrace, 

With childlike innocence and grace. 
Trusting, she wandered far. 

There, hand in hand, and heart in heart. 
Two souls together knit in one. 

We lingered daily, loth to part. 

Nor noticed, as the green world spun 
Unceasingly around the sun. 
Time's river swiftly by us run. 
Like rapid Ouachita. 



—191— 

How fondly did her soft arms twine 
Around me on the Ouachita! 

Her sweet lips chastely pressed to mine, 

Her brown eyes radiant and divine, — 
Each brighter than a star. 

She was my heart, my soul, my all; 
I loved her dearer than my life; 

And ere the autumn leaves should fall, 
Shorn by the sharp frost's glittering knife, 
I hoped, escaping the world's strife, 
To make her my own darling wife. 
On sunny Ouachita, 

Sadly, Ah! sadly by me glide 

Thy waters, clear, cold Ouachita! 

My Annie, my betrothed bride. 

That summer, sickened, drooped, and died! 
My Heaven lost its star. 

A prayer for me was on her lips, — 
The last she ever uttered here; 

Her sweet eyes, dark in death's eclipse. 
For me still glittered with a tear: 
Why could I not be with thee, dear, 
Or know that thou wast dying, near 
The sunny Ouachita? 



—192— 

Thy woods are green, thy flowers are bright, 
Thy waters sparkle, Ouachita! 

Thy glades still gleam with golden light; 

But day to me is like a night 
Moonless, without a star. 

Dear Annie! while above thy grave 
I sing this melancholy strain. 

The wild-flowers that upon it wave 
Are watered with my eyes' warm rain, 
Yet does one happj' thought remain: — 
We shall be one in Heaven again. 
As on the Ouachita. 

1844. 



HOME. 



How many a tongue 
With words of wondrous eloquence, hath sung 
Of " Home, sweet Home! " How the old memories throng, 
Stirred by the sweet notes of the dear old song. 
Into the heart, and tears suffuse the eyes, 
Of high and low, the simple and the wise. 
' Tis a trite theme : and yet if it impart 
One new, fresh feeling to the wearied heart, 
Why not sing of it, when the sad soul longs 
To hear the old, familiar, simple songs! 
Old memories that visit us in dreams 
Are always most delicious; and old themes 
The only beautiful. Whoever hath 
No pleasant recollection of the path 
He paced to school, of the orchard, the old mill 
Clacking and clattering with a rare good will. 
The fields and meadows, and the silver brooks 
That often made him truant to his books. 
The marshes where he shot, the clear cold streams 
Where the trout lurks; — who never in his dreams 
Drinks from the bucket at the deep old well. 
Or in the old church hears the old organ swell; 



—194— 

Hath grown hard-hearted, needs must be unkind, 

And deserves pity from the poorest hind. 

All things whatever that we see or hear, 

Contain Home's image, and to eye and ear 

Bring back old things; as in pellucid lakes 

The clouds are imaged, when the fresh dawn breaks. 

Is it because the heart to the harp is like. 

The simple harp, which, on it though you strike 

A hundred notes, has still its undertone, 

The key-uote of them all, that rings alone, 

A pensive sound, after the rest are dead? 

The fresh cool rain, that plashes overhead. 

On the clay-covered roof, the music rude, 

Invading suddenly my solitude, 

With discord dire, true Aztec minstrelsy, 

A barbarous music, murdered barbarously; 

The delicate foot that glances past the door; 

Bring vividly from memory's lumber -store, 

The rains that often lulled me to sweet rest 

In the old garret, where I lay and guessed 

At the meaning of full many a puzzling book; 

The music of the clear contented brook. 

That over the pebbles, chafing into foam, 

Ran rippling, half a mile or so from home; 

The ancient well -sweep, older than my sire, 

A stout and hale old age; the warm peat-fii'e 



—195— 

« 

Of winter nights, when out of doors the sleet 
And drifting snow at door and window beat; 

The brave old house, fallen somewhat to decay, 

Yet sound to the core, lusty, though mossed and gray. 

With its dark rafters of good Yankee oak. 

Seasoned by time, and blackened by much smoke; 

Familiar fields walled round with massive rocks, 

Where the autumn -harvest stood in sheaves and shocks; 

And every ancient and familiar thing, 

That seemed to watch and love me slumbering: 

The magic music of my old friend's flute; 

So very soft, yet rich, and sound and clear; 

Though, sweet as it was, when its flue tones were mute, 

His voice was still more pleasant to my ear. 

The foot — but that's a dream: — 

Yet one may keep alive a sunny dream, 

In some green nook, deep in his inmost heart. 

Ah! never may that priceless dream depart, 

Or, fading, cease life's twilight -hours to bless! 

That memory of the love and happiness. 

That were the sunlight of life's golden dawn. 

As summer -showers to the emaciated lawn; 

Dews to sweet flowers; light to the sky-lark's eyes. 

Who fain would sing at the gates of Paradise 

His orisons, and thinks dawn comes too slow; 

Leaves and cool shade to the nested throstle; so 



—196— 

To me that dream of early love is dear, 
When frowning Destiny is most austere; 
Even when he chills the soul with cold eclipse, 
The memory of long kisses on sweet lips, 
The clear brown eyes, the gentle, loving look. 
All soothe me, like some melancholy book 
Of beautiful words, wherein enraged men read, 
Until to passion gentle thoughts succeed, 
And, as the book is, they are quiet too. 



1832. 



LINES TO A LADY. 



The wind is low as woman's sigh, 
The myriad stars are shining bright, 

The pale moon, like a lustrous eye, 
Smiles calmly on the brow of night; 

And close beside her beams one star 
Of love, like woman's deep devotion, 

Of one shrined thought the worshipper; 

Pouring its mellow light afar. 
Mingled with moonbeams, on ^ the prairie's waveless ocean. 

All sounds of mortal sense are still; 

The earth is like a weary child. 
That, having played and wept its fill. 

Sleeps calmly in the forest wild; 
For she, with all her myriad brood 

Of fiery passions, sleeps like heaven; 
While not a murmur stirs the wood, 
Or the green prairie's solitude. 
Nor over heaven's face one restless cloud is driven. 

And moon, and star, and planet shine 

Upon one home of happiness, 
Flooding it with a light divine. 

As though they would its inmates bless, . 



—198— 

Where, by the night-breeze gently fanned, 

Like giants calmly slumbering. 
Old gnarled oaks, a sturdy band, 
Around that lonely dwelling stand. 
And o'er its roof their wild, grotesque arms fondly fling. 

This pleasant night will soonbe gone. 

As vanishes a sunnj- dream; 
'Tis but a bubble, floating on 

Old Time's resistless, rapid stream. 
Yet shall thy sky, sweet lady, be 

For ever cloudless, clear, and bright. 
As this that now I joy to see 
In all its glittering mystery, 
Over thy home of peace wheeling its rapid flight. 

1846! 



CHRISTMAS. 



The Christmas time is drawing near, the pleasant Christ- 
mas time; 

Let us hail its coming cheerfully, with a song of rude old 
rhyme: 

A good rough song, like those that when old England 3'et 
was young, 

Under old Saxon rafters with a jolly chorus rung; 

And round shall pass the merry glass, grim care we'll 
drive away. 

And music and the dance shall greet the gladsome Christ- 
mas day. 

Old feuds we'll bury fathoms deep, old friendships we'll 

renew. 
And closer cling to those we love, as the ivy to the j^ew; 
There may be Winter out of doors, the keen, cold wind may 

sing 
Shrilly and sharply, but within the warm heart shall be 

Spring; 
Kind feelings, like sweet jasmine buds and flowers shall 

come again. 
And blossom like the summer rose, blessed with a morning 

rain. 



—200— 

Had we our way, the good old sports should be revived 

once more; 
Again should maiden's little feet dance twinkling on the 

floor ; 
While overhead again should hang the dark -green mistleto, 
And all lips that strayed under it the forfeit pay, we know. 
The Yule-log should again be brought by many a stout, 

strong hand, 
And some fair girl should light it, with the last year's 

sacred brand. 

Once more should pass the wassail -bowl, of nut-brown ale 

and old, 
A sovereign panacea, that, against the winter's cold! 
With the nutmeg, toast and ginger: — all the vintage of 

the Rhine 
Can neither warm the brain as well nor make dark eyes to 

shine 
With half as much mad mischief, or with half as merry 

glee: — 
So away with wine! good Yule-tide ale for my sweetheart 
and me! 

"And both in town and country, in the cottage and the 

hall. 
There should be fires to curb the cold, and meat for great 
and small." 




THE PLACE OF PIKE'S RESIDENCE IN LITTLE ROCK. 
Now the Home of Col John G. Fletcher, 



—201— 

The neighbors should be bidden in, and all have welcome 

true, 
And think the good old fashions were far better than the new ; 
The roasted apples once again should cover all the hearth, 
And many a good old-fashioned game make the rafters 

ring with mirth. 

And the boar's head dressed with a green silk scarf, and 

with trumpets blown before. 
Come marching solemnly along with a carol sung at the 

door; 
Then the maidens should the cake cut up, and she who 

found the bean. 
Should be, the whole long holidays, a lovely Christmas 

Queen ; 
With pretty grace and modesty the coronal to wear. 
That brings not to the youthful head uneasiness or care. 

And the Christmas tree again should grow, and its golden 

fruitage shine. 
Around its dark -green glossy leaves; the ivy fondly twine 
Its melanchol}^ tendrils round the trunk and every limb, 
As sad thoughts cling around the heart, when at night the 

fire burns dim: 
Not of holly, bay or laurel — we would have no royal tree — 
But the lusty, green Magnolia, fit emblem for the free. 

14- p 



—202— 

Alas! the good old days are gone! Time blows an adverse 

gale ; 
On the waves of new strange oceans falls the shadow of 

onr sail; 
No more old games we play, we crown no fair young 

Queen or King; 
'Twas a mere idle dream, that through my mind went 

wandering; 
Like as the sea -wind softly blows through a shell upon 

the shore. 
And makes a low, sweet melodj^ echo of ocean's roar. 

Not all a dream ! We can forgive those that have done us 
wrong, 

Draw closer to old friends, and make affection's bonds 
more strong; 

Create more sunlight on Life's ways, more starlight in the 
heart. 

And get us ready for the time when we must hence de- 
part; — 

So may we live in peace with all, and when we pass away, 

Look back without a bitter thought to this fair Christmas 

Day. 

1849. 



TO THE MOCKING-BIRD. 



Sweet bird! Thou singest in the lonely woods, 

Far from great cities. There men dream of life, 
And walk with blinded ej'es, while grim Care broods 

Upon their withered hearts; and snarling Strife, 
Flaps her foul wings before the eyes of men. 

Hate gnaws their hearts, and sordid Avarice halts 
Out from his noisome, miserable den. 

Clutching men's souls with yellow, shrivelled hands, 
Till each shrinks up, and filthy gods exalts 

To proud dominion, worse than Pagan lands 
Ever bowed down before; 
While, grasping handfuls of his glittering ore. 

He makes of it, oh, wonder! tough, strong bands, 
To bind them to his sordid service and curst lore. 

Thou knowest nought of this. Thj^ home is in 

The thick green forests. There thou hast thy nest, 
Where the leaves whisper with an earnest din. 

And gentle winds cool thy harmonious breast. 
And there thy music fills the listening wood. 

And rings among the giant forest trees, 
Waking up every slumbering solitude. 

And sending out, with never-ceasing flow. 



—204— 

A different strain on the wings of every breeze, 
Now loud, now soft, now rapid, and then slow, 
With many a merry change; 

And causing men, for thy wild, wondrous range, 
Hault in their journeying, and seek to know 

"What emulous mad bird pours out a song so strange. 

Thou small philosopher, who laughest at 

All troubles of the world! I would that I 
Thy mirth and merriment could imitate. 

And high above all care and trouble fly. 
Thou art not drunken with rich, rosy wine; 

Joy ever nestles in thy happy heart, 
Shaking a dewy influence divine 

From his soft wings upon it. Thou, whose throat 
Surpasses in its powers all human art. 

Who startlest each lone bird with his own note. 
As if thou wert his mate; — 
Thou, whose fine song is heard, early and late. 

Through the thick leaves and flowers to dance and 
float; — 
Teach me the joyful secret of thy happj^ state! 

It cannot be that thou, who now dost sing 

With so tumultuous melody, while round 
All spirits of the woods are hovering 

And drinking in with eager ears each sound, — 



—205— 

It cannot be that thou, too, dost conceal 

The sorrows of thy soul in stormy mirth, 
Or that thou dost not in good earnest feel _ 

The joyance of thy song. That is for men 
Who walk alone on the pain -peopled earth, 

And pour out melodies with tongue and pen 
That all the world admire; 
While they with their own songs grow faint and tire, 

And sadly droop and languish, even when 
Their golden verse burns brightest with poetic fire. 

182{ 



NIGHT. 

A REVERIE. 

I cannot sleep; for many a dream of home 

Through the dark caverns of the brain has come, 

Peopling its desert with bright images 

Of all that I have left or lost: there is 

No sleep for me; and I will walk awhile. 

'Tis midnight, and the thick stars brightly smile 

Upon the slumbering earth; the deep clear stream 

Glides noiseless by my feet; the still world dreams 

Of its age of gold, long vanished. All around 

The listening ear detects no passing sound. 

Save the wild wolf's cry, that among far hills, 

Afflicts night's ear with long, low, mournful thrills; 

And the hoarse owl, that now and then booms out 

His harsh, unearthly, melancholy shout, 

And then is silent; while at intervals. 

The watch-dog moans, and stirs, and once more falls 

Into deep slumber. Still as infant death. 

The broad and heavy forest sleeps beneath 

The white foam of the Galaxy, which lies 

Above its green waves, with its myriad eyes. 

Patiently shining from its silver drifts. 

No wind his wild and mournful voice uplifts. 



—207— 

Among the tree -tops; everything lies still. 

Now is the hour for thought; the mind can fill 

Itself with voices at this solemn hour. 

The thoughts so dormant under daylight's power, 

Like wingless bees, swarming about the heart, 

With wild, uncertain, troubled melody, 

Are shaped by midnight's calm, resistless art, 

To forms that, coming from the shadowy sea 

Of memory, people the quivering soul. 

The echoes of the past roll through the heart. 

With palpable and strange reality. 

And shake its strings, as the wind shakes the chords 

Of an JEolian harp, till from its roll 

The keen vibrations of intensest thought. 

The soul now wanders back to its old home, 

And flits through every well -remembered spot, 

Where I was used in olden time to roam; 

And peers in ma.ny a much-loved face, that not 

A thousand years could from my heart erase: 

Wanders beneath old trees, by rustic wells, 

And quaint old houses hidden in low dells. 

And ancient orchards of old mossy trees. 

And wheat-fields waving in the summer breeze. 

And rude old bridges, spanning clear blue streams, 

And many a liliied pond that idly dreams 

Under great trees; so that, for some small space, 

I leave this wild uncultivated place. 



—208— 

And am again, oh, blessed word! a boy: 
The golden wings of peace, contentment, joy, 
Wave over me again, and soothe the soul, 
Hushing the passions I cannot control. 

Night! Thou art lovely and magnificent, 
When down from heaven thou silently has leant, 
Soothing earth, sea, and sky to gentle sleep. 
While summer- clouds and stars their watches keep. 
Night! I have watched thee many a weary hour; 
I have stood high on earthquake -rifted tower 
Of granite mountain, in eternal snow. 
And there have worshipped thee, and bended low 
Before thy presence. Then thy stars were cold 
And glittering, as the bright and heartless world. 
Then sometime thou didst hang thy silver lamp 
On the sky's wall; and like white flags unfurled, 
Around the blue of heaven's star-tented camp, 
The clouds shook in the wind, and with soft light 
Thou fed'st thy lamp. Over unbounded plains, 
The wolf -heart Indian's broad and drj- domains, 
I have beheld thee in thy every guise, 
Where thy caress has often soothed mine eyes 
To quiet sleep upon the rugged ground. 
And now, O Queen! as thus I pace around, 
Holding with thee this converse, thou dost seem 
To speak to me, like voices in a dream. 



—209— 

Is it the tree -tops moaning their low dirge? 
The sweet, soft murmuring of the air-sea's surge 
Among their tremulous leaves? Oh, no: it is 
Thy spirit whispering to the charmed trees, 
And thus it fludeth words: 

The stars are mine; and when I rise 

To bless the weary earth and skies. 

Then they lift up their lids of blue, 

And gladly gleam heaven's black robes through. 

Their radiant eyes, that were quenched all day 
By the tyrant sun, at my coming gray 
Are lighted, and sparkle with glee again. 
Until at the dawn my dark tides wane. 

The woods are mine, when they sleep so still. 
That their pulses hardly throb or thrill: 
And when their hearts, deep, dark, and dim. 
Are stirred, and sing their awful hymn . 

The sea is mine, when the thick stars lie 
On its calm breast and wink at the sky; 
Or tempest frets it into waves, 
And shakes the dead in their deep-sea graves. 

The mountains are mine, — each snowy cone 
That lifts like a prayer toward God's high throne; 



—210— 

And every caveru, dark and mirk 

As those where the murderer does his work. 

The mountains are mine, — around their peaks 
I wrap my wings while the lightning leaks 
From the gaping rifts of the thunder -rack, 
And the starry snow has become jet-black. 

The plains are mine, when they sleep as still 
As a child that just has gained his will; 
When I lift to the gale my broad, black sail, 
And the winds behind my storm -ship wail. 

The earth is mine, for my foe, the sun, 
Continually circling her, runs on: 
For many a long and weary age. 
The sun and I our conflict wage: 

And I am to overtake him yet, 
When the earth will see his last long set: 
When he will be quenched upon her brink, 
And she will back to choas sink. 

Then will I reign for ever and ever, 

When the stars are all sunk in heaven's river ;- 

It has been once, — it shall be again, — 

For Time even now begins to wane. 



—211— 

I am a portion of choas, left 

For long years over the earth to drift; 

At times to be full of peace and calm; 

Then alive with the lightning and thunder -psalm. 

The earth will be my slave again, 
But my victory will be all in vain; 
There will be a brighter and better sphere, 
Which I can never come anear. 

While I shall hold Creation's shell. 
Her myriad souls, I know full well. 
Out of her cold, deep heart will rise, 
And float like stars up to unseen skies. 

And while over chaos and ruin I brood, 
In the purple glooms of my solitude, 
In heaven will God's great loving eye 
Be the sun of a day that will never die. 



1833. 



MORNING. 

A LAMENT. 



The dew steeps the heart of the flower, 

And the green bending rays of the grass, 
And there, in an nnseen shower. 

The mist and sweet odors mass : 
The sensitive plant of the bosom. 

Is quivering, shrinking, and pale; 
No dews feed its withering blossom. 

The winds through its parched leaves wail. 

II. 

The fast stream that runs from the mountain. 

Is wreathing its white brow with mist; 
And its edge, like the brim of a fountain, 

With grass and sweet flowers is kissed: 
The waves of the heart's crimson river 

Flow on, uncrowned with light; 
The weeds on its dark banks shiver. 

And shrink from the roar of its flight. 



—213— 
III. 

The sunshine is cradled in leaves, 

And rocked by the unseen air, 
While the sea of emerald heaves. 

With a slumberous motion there: 
No cheerful sunshine sleeps 

In the dark caves of the soul, 
But the sad heart ever weeps 

For a grief bej^ond control. 

IV. 

Morn's purple and crimson torrent, 

Upon the mountain pours; 
And still amid that current. 

The sunlight rains its showers: 
The fire of passion blazes. 

Less hotly than of old; 
And sorrow, like sea -mist, chases 

The morning's purple and gold. 

V. 

The eagle sits on his eyrie, 

A golden haze around him clings. 
On a pyramid lone and dreary 

He fans the snow with his wings: 



—214— 

The eagle Ambition remaineth, 

Fanning the icy heart; 
His keen eye never waneth, 

Till the soul and its frail house part. 

VI. 

The thrush on his nest is brooding, 

His wings slowly winnow the air, 
And a sea of music is flooding 

The great green forest there: 
No cheerful song is ringing 

Through the sad heart's solitude; 
Nor birds of joy soft- singing. 

Among its ruins brood. 

vn. 

The influence of the morning 

Is sweet after the recent rain; 
To the heart it is only a warning, 

That night will come again: 
The heart was once all glory, 

Till boyhood faded away; 
Its course is now the story 

Of an evanescent day. 



—215— 
VIII. 

The spirit of the morning burneth 

On his altar orient; 
But the glooms that the sea inurneth, 

At night vv^ill be uupent: 
The spirit of life is fainting, 

Pressed by the glooms of death; 
Like moonlight on a painting, 

Life merely lingereth. 

IX. 

A shadow is on the soul, 

Like a shadow on the sea; 
Though the songs of glory roll 

With a grave sublimity: 
Like a current of pale moonlight. 

In the light of a flickering lamp, 
A light like a shadow, half dark, half bright, 

Is life in this earthly camp, 

X. 

Pale Death is bending over 

The worn and weary heart; 
Ah, what a constant lover. 

Grim Emperor, thou art! — 



—216— 

The soft, faint light of sorrow 

Shines on the wasted scroll; 
It will close, and the lamps go out to-morrow; 

The arrow is near its goal. 



1835. 



AT MIDNIGHT. 

A LAMENT. 



I. 

The stars are massing in heaven, 

Lid after lid they unfold; 
Bnt the showers of light that are given 

To the earth are frosty and cold: 
The light of each earthly star, 

Of Fortune, Honor, and Fame, 
Is shining brightly afar, 

But cold to the heart is their flame. 

II. 

The moon sitteth on the mountain. 

Like a golden eagle alit 
By the brim of a foaming fountain, 

Where his wings with the spray are wet; 
The moonlight of friendship has vanished, 

From the crags that shadow my way. 
The stars from my heaven are banished. 

And wander sadly away. 

III. 

The cold wind wails through the flower, 
Shaking its leaves to the ground. 

And the grass receives the shower 
With a melancholy sound: 



15— p 



—218— 

The flowers of joy are shattered 
Bj^ sorrow's tyrannous air, 

And their crimson leaves are watered 
B}^ the night -dew of despair. 

IV. 

The sphered Venus resteth 

Upon a western cone, 
And coldly she investeth 

With light her icy throne: 
The sphered light of Love 

Revolves within the heart, 
And its wasting fountains move 

With a convulsive start. 

V. 

The shadows of the ridges 

Are massed upon the plain, 
And there, from withered sedges, 

The dying winds complain: 
The heavy shades of anguish 

Are massed upon the soul, 
And there the death-notes languish, 

And through its desert roll. 



—219— 
VI. 

The snowy tents are sleeping 

Upon the dnsky prairie, 
Like white -winged eagles, keeping 

Watch over their lonely eyrie: 
The shadows of the Past 

Are sitting by my side; 
The world is else a vast. 

And I with them abide. 

VII. 

Thin spheres of dew are raining, 

Unseen, in the moonlit air; 
And the grass, when night is waning. 

Bright crowns of frost will wear: 
Death -frosts are swiftly chilling 

The pulses of the heart; 
Slow, slow the harp is thrilling, — 

Its harmonies depart. 

VIII. 

The clouds are slowly steering 
Their fleets around the moon; 

Amid them she is veering, 
To vanish, ah! too soon! — 



—220— 

The moonlight of existence 

Is flickering and pale: 
And darkly, in the distance, 

Death spreads his shadowy sail. 

IX. 

The soul is slowly moaning 

Her sad and stern lament; 
Decay is fast dethroning 

The passions Heaven lent: 
Death's steps are sadly echoing 

Its wasted cells within; 
Far in its deepest caves they ring, 

With melancholy din. 



The eagle, proudly soaring, 

Mourns not the fleeting night, 
When, on the mountains pouring, 

Awakes the red daylight: 
Why mourn this dream of Life 

When happily 'tis waning, 
And on its clouds of strife 

The light of Death is raining f 



1835 



THE LIGHT OF DAYS LONG PAST. 



Our afteruoon of life has come, 

Its darkening hours are here; 
The evening shadows lengthen, 

And the night is drawing near; 
To some the sky is bright, to some 

With clouds is overcast; 
But still upon our Present smiles 

The Light of Days long past. 

The Autumn of our life is here, 

Its summer flowers are dead; 
But still the wine -cup charms us, 

And young lips rosy -red. 
What though the river to the sea 

Runs steadily and fast? 
Upon its shifting waves still smiles 

The Light of Days long past. 

We meet here as we met of old. 
Kind words to say or sing; 

Forgetting age, and all the cares 
That age and losses bring: 



— 222 — 

The friendships sealed in younger days 

Still firm and faithful lastj 

And newer friendships brighten in 

The Light of Days long past. 

1866. 



^TO MARY. 



I ken a charming little maid, 

As sweet and winsome as a fairy; 
I wadna ask wi' wealth to wed, 

If I could wed wi' thee, Mary! 

I've wandered east, I've wandered west. 
As wanton as the winds that vary; 

But ne'er was I sae truly blest, 
As when I met wi' thee, Mary! 

Like a wee purple violet, 

That hangs its blushing head sae weary, 
When wi' sweet dew its leaves are wet, — 

Sae modest, sweet art thou, Mary! 

Thy brow is white, as is the mist. 

That sleeps on heaven's forehead starry; 

Or mountain snow by sunrise kissed, — 
Thy heart is purer still, Mary! 

Thy e'en are like an eagle's e'en. 

That sitteth proudly on his eyrie; 
They glitter with a radiant sheen,' 

Yet modest as thy heart, Mary! 

*Said to have been written to the author's future wife when he 
was courting her. 



—224— 

Upon thy rosy cheek, the soul 

Seems iu the gushing tide to vary, 

And crimson currents in it roll, 

As though they wad break through, Mary! 

If I could press thee in my arms. 
As my wee wife and bonnie fairy, 

I wadna gi'e for thy sweet charms, 
The warld and a' its wealth, Mary! 

How sweetly wad the hours gae by. 
That noo sae solemn are and dreary. 

If thou upon my heart didst lie. 
My ain, my loving, dear Mary! 



1834. 



ORA ATQUE LABORA. 

PRAY AND WORK, 



Swiftly flashing, hoarsely dashing, 
Onward roils the mighty river; 

Down it hurries to the sea, 

Bounding on exultingly; 
Still the lesson teaching ever, 

OrA ATQUE LABORA ! 

Trembling fountains on blue mountains. 

Murmuring and overflowing. 

Through green valleys deep in hills. 
Send down silver brooks and rills; 

Singing, while in sunlight glowing, 

OrA ATQUE LABORA ! 

Onward flowing, ever growing, 

In its beauty each rejoices; 

While on Night's delighted ear, 
Through the amber atmosphere. 

Sounds the murmur of their voices, 

OrA ATQUE LABORA ! 



—226— 

Archly glancing, lightly dancing, 
See its eddies chase each other; 

Round old roots they flashing whirl. 

Over ringing pebbles curl; 
Each one singing to his brother, 

Ora atque labora! 

Still descending, mingling, blending, 
Lo! a broad, majestic river! 

Under whose perpetual shocks. 

Lofty crags and columned rocks 
Shaken, echo as they quiver, 

Ora atque labora! 

Hoarsely roaring, swiftly pouring 
Through tall mountains cloven asunder, 

Over precipices steep. 

Plunging to abysses deep, 
Loud the cataract's voices thunder, 

Ora atque labora! 

Sunlight shifting, white mist drifting 
On its forehead, thence it marches, 

Swelled with freshets and great rains, 

Shouting through the fertile plains, 
Spanned with aqueducts and arches, 

Ora atque labora! 



— 227 

Thus EDdeavoiir striveth ever 
For the thankless world's improvemeut; — 

Each true thought and noble word, 

By the dull earth, though unheard. 
Making part of one great movement, — 

Ora atque labora! 

Work then bravely, sternly, gravely, — 

Life for this alone is given; 
What is right, that boldly do. 
Frankly speak out what is true, — 

Leaving the result to Heaven, 

Ora atque labora! 

1844. 



AUTUMN. 



It is the eveniug of a pleasant day, 

In these old woods. The sun profusely flings 
His golden light through everj^ narrow way 

That winds among the trees: His spirit clings 

In orange mist around the snowy wings 
Of many a patient cloud that now, since noon. 

Over the western mountain idly swings, 
Waiting, when night -shades come, alas! too soon. 

To veil the timid blushes of the virgin moon. 

The trees with crimson robes are garmented, 

Clad with frail brilliance by the wrinkling frost; 

For the young leaves that Spring with beauty fed. 
Their greenness and luxuriance have lost, 
Gaining new beauty at too dear a cost, — 

Unnatural beauty, essence of decay. 

Too soon, upon the harsh winds wildly tossed, 

Leaving the naked trees ghost-like and gray. 

These leaf -flocks, like vain hopes, will vanish quite away. 

How does your sad, yet calm, contented guise. 

Ye melancholy autumn solitudes! 
With my own feelings softly harmonize; 

For though I love the hoar and solemn woods, 



—229— 

In all their manifold and changing moods, 
In gloom and sunshine, storm and quietness, 

By day, and when the dim night on them broods. 
Their lightsome glades, their deep, dark mysteries, 

Yet a sad heart best loves a still, calm scene like this. 

Soon will the year, like this sweet day, have fled 
With swift feet speeding noiselessly and fast. 

As a ghost speeds to join its kindred dead. 
In the dark realms of that mysterious Vast, 
The shadow -peopled, vague and infinite Past. 

Life's current downward flows, a rapid stream. 
With clouds and shadows often overcast. 

Yet lighted by full many a sunny beam. 

Of happiness, like sweet thoughts in a gloomy dream. 

Like the brown leaves our loved ones drop away. 

One after one, into the dark abyss 
Of sleep and death; the frosts of trouble lay 

Their withering touch upon our happiness. 

Even as the hoar-frosts of the Autumn kiss 
The green life from the unoffending leaves; 

And Love, and Hope, and Youth's warm cheerfulness, 
Flit from the heart; — Age lonely sits and grieves. 

Or sadly smiles, while Youth his day -dream fondly weaves. 



—230— 

Day draweth to its close: Night cometh on: 

Death, a dim shape, stands on Life's western verge, 

Casting his shadow on the startled sun, 
A deeper gloom that seemeth to emerge 
From endless night. Forward he bends, to urge 

His eyeless steeds, fleet as the tempest's blast; 
Hark! hear we not Eternity's grave surge, 

Thundering anear? At the dread sound aghast, 

Time, pale with frantic terror, hurries headlong past. 

1842. 



AN INVITATION. 



Come out and sit with me, dear wife, beneath these branch- 
ing trees, 
And let our little children come, and clamber on our knees! 
It is a sweet, soft, pleasant morn, the loveliest in May, 
And their little hearts are beating fast, longing to be at play. 

The shadows here are thick and cool, the south wind stirs 

the leaves, 
The martin sings a merry note upon the ivied eaves; 
The crisp grass wears a richer green, from yesterday's soft 

showers, 
And is jewelled over thickly with the rarest of your flowers. 

The odors of the jasmine and the roses fill the air, 

And the bees, refreshed by Night's sweet rest, again begin 

to bear 
Rich freightage to their palaces under the locust trees. 
Rejoicing in the influence of this sweet summer breeze. 

The humming-birds are busy through the flower-encum- 
bered vines. 

Where the golden honeysuckle, from our own green woods, 
entwines 



—232— 

With its paler foreign sisters, 'mid whose dark -green, 

glossy leaves 
The flowers prof usely clustered there entice the tiny thieves. 

Where the coral woodbine flauntingly displays its crimson 
blooms, 

And our native yellow jasmine pours abroad its rich per- 
fumes; 

Where the climbing roses cluster, painted rich with every hue, 

And stem, and leaf, and bud, and flower, are glittering 
with dew. 

A hundred snowy doves upon the grass have settled down, 
Like a drift of stainless snow upon a green hill's sunny 

crown; 
They wait to be, as usual, by our little children fed, 
Who, idle ones, are playing here, under the trees, instead. 

The mocking-bird, for many a week so busy, now can rest, 
For yesterday I saw him give the last touch to his nest; 
His eyes shine brightly now with joy, his song rings loud 

and shrill; 
Now here, now there, in mad delight, he's not a moment 

still. 

Behold! just overhead, his mate is sitting on the nest,' 
You can see above its edges, the gray feathers of her breast, 



—233— 

Ah, happy bird! — but we, dear wife, are happier than she; 
For OUR young carol round us now, in childhood's merry 
glee. 

The sun's first rays are shooting up above the eastern 
woods; 

But here, among these circled trees, no prying light in- 
trudes : 

Five sturdy oaks are ranged around; five children round 
us throng. 

And after each we'll name a tree, that shall to each belong. 

This tallest one for Hamilton, our little manly boy, 
Whose dark and thoughtful eyes are now so radiant with joy; 
This, Walter's, whose bright, dancing ones with merry 

mischief shine. 
But still, affectionate and kind, are images of thine. 

This, for our silent little girl, the quiet Is adore, 
Who sits demurely working at her doll's new pinafore; 
This, for our blue-eyed Lilian, the merriest of all; 
This smallest, for the babe, that by his father's name we call. 

Life's spring has passed from us, dear wife; its summer 

glides away, 
And melancholy autumn comes, robed in its vesture gray; 

16— p 



—234— 

We may linger on till winter; we may die before we are old; 
But these young oaks will live and thrive when we are 
dead and cold. 

We have been very happy, dear, for more than ten long 

years : — 
How short, as we look backward, that long space of time 

appears ! 
And if these dear ones all are spared, around our hearts 

to cling, 
The autumn of our life will be as happy as its spring. 

For many a pleasant year, perhaps, to bless us, they may live, 
Kind solace and assistance to our feeble age to give; — 
May help us totter out beneath these interlocking trees. 
Enjoying, as life fades away, the pleasant morning breeze. 

We will make them virtuous, honest, true, kind, generous; 

and when 
They are grown to lovely women, and true-hearted, gallant 

men, 
Then, having done our duty, we, without a tear or sigh. 
With cheerful resignation may be well content to die. 

And after we are dead and gone, and buried many a year. 
They, with their children gathered round, may sit as we 
do here; 



—235— 

New flowers will bloom around them then, though these, 

like us, will fade; 
But the green oaks we planted still will bless them with 

their shade. 

Then will they think of us, dear wife, with love and grief 

sincere, 
And sadly on our memory bestow a silent tear; 
Let this our consolation be, while life shall swiftly wane, — 
In our sweet children's virtues we shall live and love again. 



TO GENEVIEVE. 



Of all the rivers of the West, 
I love the clear Neosho best; 
For there was I first truly blest, 
There first in my fond arms I pressed 

My blushing Genevieve. 
Her eyes were bright, yet black as night. 
And radiant with love's holy light, — 
A tender, melancholy pair. 
Brilliant as if were throned there 

Twin love -stars of the eve. 
How dear to me that rosy mouth. 
Sweet as the sweet-brier of the South, — 
These little, graceful, dancing feet. 
That flew so joyfully to meet 
Me, on our old, rude, oaken seat, 

Close to the clear Neosho! 

On my fond heart her forehead fair 
In trusting fondness pillowed there; 
The sunshine, flashing from her hair, 
With golden glory filled the air 
That swam round Genevieve. 



—237— 

Her lips divine pressed close to mine, — 
Nay, frown not, Dian! — pure as thine 
Were soul and heart, and lip and eye; 
Pure as an angel of the sky 

Was my sweet Genevieve; — 
Her bosom's snowy paradise, 
Forbidden to unhallowed eyes, 
Beat with devotion on my breast; 
And, clasping fondly her slight waist, 
Those rosy, loving lips I kissed. 

Chaste as the cold Neosho. 

The river murmured in its bed; 
The scented clover round us spread; 
The birds sang gladly overhead; 
Bees at the honeysuckle fed; — 

All loved my Genevieve. 
Her petted deer was ever near, 
A gentle thing, devoid of fear; 
The flowering vines above us made 
A silver dusk, half light, half shade, 

From morn till dewy eve. 
And there she murmured in my ear 
The words I longed and hoped to hear, 



—238— 

Confessing she was all my own, 
Which her dear eyes before had shown, 
While often we sat there alone, 
Close to the clear Neosho. 

Over the lofty Cavanole 
The crimson clouds still foam and roll 
But she is gone that was the soul, 
Illuming like a sun the whole, 

My sweet young Genevieve. 
Vanished are those bright hours that rose, 
Like golden drifts at day's soft close; 
That face no longer greets me here, 
Which made these grassy banks so dear, 

I stay behind to grieve. 
Yet still I love the tranquil tide, 
On which I wooed and won my bride. 
Long years have passed since she waa there, 
Yet I preserve with jealous care. 
Our old, rude, twisted oaken chair, 

That hallows the Neosho. 

1840. 



LINES WRITTEN ON THE ROCKY 
MOUNTAINS. 



The deep transparent sky is full 

Of many thousand glittering lights, 
Unnumbered stars that calmly rule 

The dark dominions of the night; 
The mild, sad moon has upward risen. 

Out of the gray and boundless plain; 
And all around the white snows glisten, 

Where frost and ice and silence reign. 
While ages roll away, and they unchanged remain, 

These mountains, piercing the blue sky, 

With their eternal cones of ice; 
These torrents, dashing from on high, 

O'er rock and crag and precipice, 
Change not, but still remain as ever, 

Unwasting, deathless and sublime. 
And will remain, while lightnings quiver. 

Or stars these hoary summits climb, 
Or rolls the thunder -chariot of eternal Time. 

It is not so with all. I change 
And waste as with a living death. 

Like one that has become a strange 
Unwelcome guest, and lingereth 



—240— 

Among the memories of the past, 

Where he is a forgotten name. 
For time hath mighty power to blast 

The hopes, the feelings, and the fame, 
To make the passions swell, or their wild fierceness tame. 

The swift wind whistles shrill and loud, 

And cools my fever- heated brow; 
Such was I once, as free, as proud, 

And yet, alas! how altered now! 
And while I gaze upon the plain. 

These mountains, this eternal sky. 
The scenes of boyhood come again. 

And pass before the vacant eye. 
Still wearing something of the shape I knew them by. 

Yet why lament? For what are wrong. 

False friends, cold hearts, sharp words, deceit. 
And life already spun too long. 

To one who walks with bleeding feet 
The world's rough paths? All will but make 

Death sweeter, when he comes at last. 
Although the outraged heart may ache, 

Its agony of pain is past. 
And patience makes it firm, while life is ebbing fast. 



—241— 

Perhaps, when I have passed away, 

Like the sad echo of a dream, 
There may be some one found to say 

A word that will like sorrow seem. 
That I would have — one genuine tear, 

One kindly and regretful thought, 
Grant me but that; and even here, 

In this lone, strange, unpeopled spot. 
To breathe away this life of pain I murmur not. 

1832. 



MA TRISTE CHERIE. 



Your wondrous eyes look sadly into mine, 
Look anxiously and eagerly in mine, — 
Look like a sorrowing angel's into mine, 

Until mine ache and fill with bitter tears. 
O, what a tale of sadness and of sorrows, 

Those dear eyes tell, — of days that seem like years, 
Of nights of sighs, and of unwelcome morrows, 

Of doubts and pains and griefs and heavy fears! 

Your amber eyes look, darkening, into mine. 
Fixed and dilating, deeply into mine, 
Look questioning, beseeching, into mine. 

Until my heart aches with a heavy pain. 
I feel the pangs of your soul's crucifixion, 

And in the echoing chambers of my brain. 
The words that told me of your great affliction 

Continually repeat their sad refrain. 

Darling! the crown of thorns is yours to wear; 
Life is a cross, that you must bravely bear; 
A burthen of long griefs and constant care, — 
The penalty that Genius always pays. 



—243— 

Lean on my love! let it your burthen lighten! 

When the clouds darken, hope for better days! — 
Hath love no radiant influence to brighten, 

For heavy hearts, the dark world's painful ways? 

Look not so sadly, Darling, in my eyes! 
Look not so mournfully into my eyes! 
With piteous entreaty, in my eyes: 

Yet turn not yours away, for in their light 
Is all my life, and all my joy of living; 

Is all that makes the day not sombre night! — 
eyes so true, so loving and forgiving. 

Laugh once again, and make the dark world bright! 

O sad, sweet eyes! O stars that light my soul! 
eyes that saturate with love my soul! 
That fill with pain and sympathy my soul! 

Ye hold me like a captive bound in chains. 
O sweet, fair face, sweetest when melancholy! 

Sweet lips that tremble with unuttered pains! 
O Soul of Innocence, sublime and holy! 

Your sorrows pass, but still the trace remains. 

O helpless Love! that cannot help the one! 
O fruitless Love! that cannot bless the one. 
That cannot comfort or console the one. 
Who is the idol of its adoration! 



—244— 

Why should there be no healing in caresses, 
No power to comfort in my life's oblation, 

When one kind word from you my tired heart blesses, 
One look of love gives me such consolation! 

1869. 



FANNY. 

Through the broad, rolling prairie I'll merrily ride, 
Though father may fume, and though mother may chide, 
To the green, leafy island — the largest of three — 
That quietly sleeps in that silent, green sea; 
For there my dear Fanny, my gentle young Fanny, 
My own darling Fanny, is waiting for me. 

Ho! Selim! push on! — The green isle's still afar, 
And morning's red blush dims the dawn's regal star; 
Before the sun rises, she'll watch there for me, 
Her eyes like twin -planets that soothe the vext sea; — 
My young, black -eyed Fanny, my winsome, sweet Fanny, 
My own darling Fanny, will watch there for me. 
Swift, Selim! swift, sluggard! — more swiftly than this; 
There are ripe, rosy lips that I'm dying to kiss, 
And a dear little bosom will throb with delight. 
When the star on your forehead first glitters in sight; — 
My glad, little Fanny, my arch, merry Fanny, 
My graceful, fair Fanny, — no star is so bright. 

Then her soft, snowy arms round me fondly will twine. 
And her warm, rosy lips will be pressed close to mine, 
And her innocent bosom with rapture will beat. 
When again, and no more to be parted, we meet: 



—246— 

My lovely young Fanny, my own darling Fanny, 
The flower of the prairie, so modest and sweet. 

So, father may grumble, and mother may cry. 
And sister may scold; — I know very well why; 
'Tis that beauty and virtue are all Fanny's store. 
That, while we are rich, she, alas! is quite poor; — 
My lovely young Fanny, my faithful, true Fanny, 
My own darling Fanny, I'll love you the more. 

Ho, Selim! fleet Selim! bound fast o'er the plain! 

The morning advances, the stars swiftly wane; 

I see in the distance the green, leafy isle — 

Between us and it stretch full many a mile — 

Where my true-hearted Fanny, my own constant Fanny, 

Shall welcome us both with a tear and a smile. 

1842. 



REFLECTIONS. 



The stars shine sweetly in the skies, 

Where, hours ago, they gently stole. 
Even as a lady's lovely eyes 

Look in upon her lover's soul: 
The murmur of the mighty river, 

Rolls on, a melancholy tune; 
Over the eastern mountains quiver 

The first rays of the wasted moon; 

For daylight cometh, ah, too soon, 
To end a pleasant night that ought to last for ever. 

In the dim starlight, all around, 
Sleeps each deserted, lonely street, 

Save when, at intervals, resound 
Some watcher's melancholy feet. 

High up in heaven one lovely star 
Pours in upon my soul its light; 

As, nested from the world afar, 

A dove, with eyes clear, fond, and bright, 
Gazes, with earnest, mute delight, 
Upon its young, that all its life and treasure are. 

It seems as if the stars could hear, 

So soft, so still, so calm it is. 
Each footfall, that, distinct and clear. 

Rings through the city's passages. 



—248— 

The wild excitement of the day, 

Calmed by this sweet night's gentle power, 

Like a strange dream has passed away. 
And now at this late, silent hour, 
The heart expands, as does a flower. 
Fed by the light and dew of a soft morn in May. 

The snows of Time fall cold upon 

The fountains that well up within 
The boyish heart, and mock the sun 

With their bright, bubbling, merry din. 
There comes no joyous summer-rain. 

That can unlock these frozen springs; 
Nor can the southern breeze again 

Release them with its sunny wings: 

The icy mass that round them clings, 
Through life's long winter grows, and growing doth 
remain. 

Now the thick stars grow pale, and fade 

Before the moon's unclouded brow, 
Whose light, encroaching on gray shade, 

Sleeps like a drift of mountain-snow. 
How trivial now appear the fret 

And fever of this busy life ! 



—249— 

The cares and troubles that beset, 
The madness of this party -strife, 
Wherewith all hearts are now so rife, 
That even I, who blame, feel the wild fever yet. 

But tree and leaf and bud and flower 

Speak with a language eloquent; 
And soothed by them and this sweet hour, 

I feel how vainly life is spent; 
How wretched and degrading all 

This toil for power and office is. 
In which one needs must crouch and crawl 

If he expect or hope success; 

The unwashed feet of thousands kiss, 
And grovelling before strange idols prostrate fall. 

How little do mankind commune 

With Nature, or the truths regard, 
Whereof, at all times, night or noon. 

Her student reaps a rich reward! 
We scarcely glance at that great book. 

Whose bright leaves ever open lie; 
Nor therein for instruction look, 

With calm and philosophic eye. 

Alas! that we should live and die 
As if mankind no more of aught divine partook. 

17— p 



—250— 

Out on this wretched party- war! 

Where the best weapons, trick, chicane. 

And perjury and cunning are, — 
Its picked troops, scoundrelism's train, — 
Where baser men outweigh the best, 

Lies always over truth prevail. 
Wisdom by numbers is oppressed, 

Knavery at Virtue dares to rail, 

Slanders the brightest name assail; — 
Victor3^ in such a war bumble's the victor's crest. 

Henceforth, myself I dedicate 

To other service. Let me read 
Thy pages, Nature! — though so late 

Thy voice of reprimand I heed. 
From bud and leaf, from flower and bloom. 

From every fair created thing, 
Thy teachings will my soul illume. 

So long in darkness slumbering; 

That when to Life's bright sunny Spring, 
Autumn succeeds, it may not all my hopes entomb. 

My children, with their innocent looks, 
My home, with modest, humble cheer, 

Mj' old, familiar, friendly books, 
Companions faithful and sincere? — 



—251— 

What want I more, if I am wise, 
To cheer me on my quiet way? 

Honor and fame no more I prize, — 

Let those that harvest reap who may. — 
But lo! Dawn heralds blushing Day, 
And now, contentedly, I close my weary eyes. 



1844. 



SUNSET IN ARKANSAS. 



Sunset again! Behind the massy green 

Of the continuous oaks the sun hath fallen, 
And his last rays have struggled through, between 
The leaf-robed branches, as hopes intervene 

Amid gray cares. The western sky is wallen 

With shadowy mountains, built upon the marge 
Of the horizon, from Eve's purple sheen. 
And thin, gray clouds, that insolently lean 

Their silver cones upon the crimson verge 
Of the high Zenith, while their unseen base 

Is rocked by lightning. It will show its eye 
When dusky Night comes. Eastward, you can trace 

No stain, no spot of cloud upon a sky. 
Pure as an angel's brow. 

The winds have folded up their swift wings now, 
And, all asleep, high up in their cloud- cradles lie. 

Beneath the trees, the dusky, purple glooms 

Are growing deeper, more material. 
In windless solitude. The young flower-blooms 
Richly exhale their thin, invisible plumes 

Of odor, which they yield not at the call 

Of the hot sun. The birds all sleep within 
Unshaken nests; save the gray owl, that booms 
His plaintive cry, like one that mourns strange dooms; 

And the sad whip-poor-will, with lonely din. 



—253— 

There is a deep, calm beauty all around, 

A heavy, massive, melancholy look, 
A unison of lonely sight and sound, 

Which touch us, till the soul can hardly brook 
Its own sad feelings here. 

They do not wring from the full heart a tear, 
But give us heavy thoughts, iike reading a sad book. 

Not such thy sunsets, oh New England! Thou 
Hast more wild grandeur in thy noble eye, 

More majesty upon thy rugged brow. 

When Sunset pours on thee his May- time glow. 
He looks on capes and promontories high, 
Gray granite mountain, rock and precipice, 

Crowned with the white wreaths of the long-lived snow; 

On sober glades, and meadows wide and low; 
On wild old woods, gloomy with mysteries; 

On cultivated fields, hedged with mossed rocks, 

And greening with the husbandman's young treasure; 

On azure ocean, foaming with fierce shocks 

Against stout shores, that his dominion measure; 
On towns and villages. 

And environs wealthy with flowers and trees, 

Full of gray, pleasant shades, and sacred to calm leisure. 

When Sunset radiantly unfolds his wing 
Upon thy Occident, and fills the clouds 
With his rich spirit, while the laughing Spring 
Leans towards the arms of Summer, like a king 



—254— 

He treads the West, and sends iu glittering crowds 

His flocks of colors forth upon the river 
Of the blue skj^ there spirit -like to cling 
To the cloud -clififs and waves, there wandering 

And circling westwardly the world for ever. 
Thy sunsets are more brilliant and intense 

But not so melancholj^ or so calm, 
As this that now is fast retreating hence, 

Shading his heavy eyes with misty palm, 
Lulled to an early sleep 

By Thunder, from the western twilight's deep, 
Under the far horizon muttering a stern psalm. 

1833. 



MIGNONNE. 



In the sad eveniug of my life, 

A single star upon me smiles, 
And makes the world's tnrmoil and strife 

Seem distant from me many miles, — 
The Star of one great love, that gleams 

My solitary way upon; — 
I love once more, and in my dreams 

I whisper one dear name — My Darling, Chere 

MiGNONNE ! 

I love you with a man's great love, 

A loyal love, profound and true, 
Pure as the star- light that above 

The low earth loves to shine on you: 
A love that all my being tills, 

And cannot wane till life is done, 
Whose passionate ardour through me thrills. 

And makes me all thy slave. My Darling, 
Chere Mignonne! 

No fancy 't is, no mere desire, 

No furious and fickle flame; — 
Such love did Petrarch's soul inspire, 

And make immortal Dante's name: — 



—256— 

A love that finds its recompense 

In serving the beloved one, — 
So pure, so perfect, so intense, 

My deathless love for you, My Darling, Chere 

MiGNONNE ! 

Your passionate love I cannot win; 

Life's Autumn cannot be so blest: — 
Lock up my secret, Darling! in 

The sanctuary of your breast! 
Let none my idle passion know! 

No answering love I count upon, 
Yet cannot help but love you so. 

And wish for youth once more, ^My Darling, 
Chere Mignonne! 

And if I sometimes chafe, because 

You are indifferent and cold, 
And Nature will not change her laws. 

And teach the j'oung to love the old; 
I do not love j'ou less, but more: 

Of all the world of v/omen none. 
Though I have often loved before. 

Has been so loved as you, My Darling, Chere 
Mignonne ! 



—257— 

Am I ungenerous'? — It is wrong; 

But love that doubts is always so. 
I bear the burthen, when the long, 

Still watches of the sad night go 
With slow steps by my sleepless eyes, 

While your sweet kisses linger on 
My lips, almost like agonies, 

Because I cannot win My Darling, Chere 

MiGNONNE ! 

O Darling! love me lest I die! 

Let not the cloud between us stay! 
One kiss will chase it from my skj^ 

And make the dark night joyous day. 
You are my love, ray life, my all, 

Yet never to be all my own; 
For me the leaves of Autumn fall, 

For you the Spring -flowers bloom. My Darling, 
Chere Mignonne! 

1868. 



INVOCATION. 



What cheer, Imperial Mountain? Titan, hail! 

Thy distant crest gleams in the morning- light. 
Like a small shallop's broad and snowy sail. 

Over still waters urging its swift flight. 
What cheer, old thunder -scarred and wrinkled peak! 
On which the elements in vain their fury wreak? 

On thy wide shoulders rests the eternal snow. 
Wherein broad rivers have their hidden springs; 

Down thy rough sides impetuous torrents flow. 
The cataract with sullen thunder rings, 

And flashing fiercely round thine aged feet, 
Against thy patient rocks the fretted waters beat. 

Through the dark foam and fluctuating surge, 
That ever dash thy rugged breast upon, 

Thou dost in silent majesty emerge. 

Lifting thy forehead proudly to the sun: 

Like a great truth, simple, and yet sublime, 
Gleaming above the surge of Error and of Time. 



—259— 

Thou standest there for ever, day and night, 

Like a great man, calm, self-possessed, serene; 
Who, doing what he knoweth to be right, 

Stands up, firm -rooted, earnest, and sincere, 
Calmly the suffrage of the world contemns, 
Seeks not its worthless praise, nor heeds if it condemns. 

Above the Northern Cordilleras towers 

Thy haughty crest, like some strong feudal King, 

Elect of Principalities and Powers, 

To whom far isles unwilling tribute bring; 

Who holds with pomp and majesty his court, 
Among the mail-clad Barons that his throne support. 

Thou standest firm there, like an iron will. 
Triumphant over time and circumstance, 
Sterulj' resolved its duty to fulfill. 

And ever towards its object to advance; 
While careless of the clamorous hounds that bay. 
Through all impediments it marches on its way. 

How manj^ ages is it, since the snows 

First on thy forehead and wide shoulders fell? 

How many since the wandering sun arose, 
Wondering at thee, grim-visaged sentinel! 

On the wide desert's western margin set, 
To watch its solemn loneliness, as thou dost yet? 



—260— 

Wast thou an island in the overflow 

Of the great flood? Did any from afar 

Look wistfully to thy eternal snow, 
Over new oceans gleaming like a star? 

Or did the waves thee also overwhelm, 
Last spot of earth in the wide waters' angry realm, 

Howe'er it be, still thou art planted there. 

As when the Deluge round thee ceased to roar; 

Thy snows the bright hues of the morning wear: 
The crimson glories of spring -sunrise pour 

On thy white brow that proudly fronts the sky, 
Bidding a calm defiance to Day's burning eye. 

Fierce storms for centuries against thee dash. 
On thy bare head rain torrents of sharp hail, 

The baffled lightnings round thy temples flash. 
Over thee roar the thunder and the gale. 

What matter to the calm and well -poised soul, 
Though round it slander howl, and persecution roll. 

The tempests vanish. The round moon shines bright; 

In Heaven's glad ear the cataract's grave hymn 
Sounds, through the solemn silence of the night: 

Around thy brow the white stars thickly swim, 
Anxious thine aged solitude to cheer, 
Even as a wife's fond eyes shine, earnest and sincere. 



—261— 

So all the storms and clouds that gather round 
A great man's reputation, pass away, 

And leave it with a brighter glory crowned; 
Above the elemental surge and spray, 

To shine on distant ages, far across 
The stormy sea of Time, on whose wild waves they toss. 

1844. 



CAROLINE. 



They said that we should meet no more, 

They said she never should be mine 
They swore to see me dead, before 

I should wed Caroline. 
But rivers to the ocean run, 

And none can stay their rapid course; 
The springs gush upward to the sun, 

With a resistless force; 
Man cannot keep fond lips apart. 
Nor sever loving heart from heart. 

Nor me from Caroline. 

What chains can fetter the fond soul. 

Or bind the pre -determined will? 
I left them in their wealth to roll, 

I was a free man still. 
I wandered to the far SouthM^est, 

I labored manfully and long. 
For Caroline inspired my breast, 

Her promise made me strong. 
And now, a free man still, I ride. 
To claim my lovely, blushing bride, 

Mv dark -eyed Caroline. 



—263— 

There is a green and cheerful spot, 

Where, through a valley, ramparted 
With mountains, the bright Cossitot 

Sparkles along its bed; 
The forest, from the river's brim 

In stately semicircle sweeps; 
In which, imprisoned like a gem, 

Au emerald meadow sleeps; 
Across it, through the columned green, 
A pleasant cottage may be seen, 

Builded for Caroline. 

No earl hath lovlier demesne 

Than that fair valley's solitude;'] 
Nor looks on forests half so green 

As that primeval wood. 
And it is honestly my own. 

Its price with my own hands I earned, 
For long I labored there alone. 

While still I often turned 
Mine eyes to our old home, and knew 
That there she waited, fond and true, 

My constant Caroline. 

My dear wife's loving, happy eyes. 
Her cheerful voice and sunny looks, 

Our love, that flower from Paradise, 
And music, and old books; 



—264— 

With honest labor every day, 
All blessing our sweet solitude, 

Shall from our fireside scare away 
All troubles that intrude. 

And while life calmly journeys on, 

Dearer with each returning sun 
Shall be my Caroline. 



1840. 




INTERIOR OF ALBERT PIKE SCOTTISH RITE CATHEDRAL, LITTLE ROCK. 



THE MAGNOLIA. 

SONG. 



What, what is the true Southern Symbol, 

The Symbol of Honor and Right, 
The Emblem that suits a brave people 

In arms against number and might? — 
'Tis the ever green stately Magnolia, 

Its pearl-flowers pure as the Truth, 
Defiant of tempest and lightning. 

Its life a perpetual youth. 

French blood stained with glory the Lilies, 

While centuries marched to their grave; 
And over bold Scot and gay Irish 

The Thistle and Shamrock jet wave : 
Ours, ours be the noble Magnolia, 

That only on Southern soil grows 
The Symbol of life everlasting; — 

Dear to us as to England the Rose. 

Paint the flower on a field blue as Heaven, 
Let the broad leaves around it be seen, 

" Sempervirens " the eloquent motto. 
Our colors the Blue, White and Green. 

18-P 



—266— 

Type of Chivalry, loyalty, virtue, 

In Winter and Summer the same, 
Full of leaf, full of flower, full of vigor,— 

It befits those who fight for a name. 

For a name among Earth's ancient Nations, 

Yet more for the Truth and the Right, 
For Freedom, for proud Independence, 

The old strife of Darkness and Light. 
Round the World bear the flag of our glory. 

While the nations look on and admire, 
And our struggle," immortal in story. 

Shall the free of all ages inspire. 

What though many fall in the conflict, 
And our blood redden many a field!. 

The foe's on our soil, fellow -soldiers! 
And God is our strength and our shield. 

Through the fire and the smoke bear our banner 
Ever on, while a fragment remains! 

What though we are few and thej- many? 

The Lord God of Armies still reigns. 

1861. 



THE FIRST WILD-FLOWER OF 
SPRING. 



Young nursling of the Spring and southern mind! 

Thou comest like tenderness fostered by neglect, 
Or like new hope within a desert mind, 

Lonely and beautiful. With new gladness decked, 

The Earth is waking from her dreamless sleep 
Of barrenness and winter. Warmer airs 

Come hovering down from the great upper Deep, 
And brood upon her. The wide azure wears 

The semblance of a sleeping ocean, in 

Its great blue eye, and wandering clouds spread out 
Upon that upper sea their canvas thin. 

And float, obedient to the winds, about 

Over its depths, freighted with rain and dew, 

Wherewith to bless the trees and struggling flowers, 

When Night, in pensive silence, wanders through 
The clustering stars, guarded by darkling hours. 



—268— 

Spring, gentle Spring! thou nurse of happiness! 

Cradled at first among cold winter winds, 
And thronging clouds, gloomy and motionless! 

Thou comest like a dream of joy, that blinds 
The heart with happiness; and thou dost bless 

The barren earth, and the deep sluggish minds 
Of men benumbed by Winter. The glad ocean 
Lifts his blue waves to thee, with deep emotion. 

Aye! thou didst sleep, while Winter ruled, afar. 
In the calm greenness of the sea-girt isles; 

While every wondering and impatient star 
Watched for the coming of thy many smiles, 

And thy soft winds, that would the frosts unbar, 
Whereby the seed -girt flowers were held in piles 

Of frozen earth. Yet still thy sleep was calm. 

Beneath the olive and the graceful palm. 

Then thou didst wake; thy genial influence poured 
From the unmeasured crystalline of heaven; 

The winds of Avinter fled away, and roared 
Behind the western mountains; life was given 

To the earth again; the quiet rains were showered 
On its cold brow; its frozen mass was riven. 

And like awakening dreams, the flowers sprang up, 

Each holding to the sun its thirsty cup 



—269— 

One spraug, as suddenlj^ as first love springs 
At times, within the lonely soul, from out 

The mass of damp leaves and decaying things, 
And shyly looked at the sun, in timid doubt; 

And then great clouds opened their snowy wings, 
And, eagle-like, sailed leisurel}^ about. 

So that the light rain and the lighter dew 

Fell, like a spiritual influence, through 

The chasm of air. The joyful earth vibrated; 

Verdure shot up, like many a pleasant thought 
Of universal joy; the sea, elated, 

Quaked on his shores; with melody untaught, 
The birds sang loud; and everything created 

A new joy from the Spring's young spirit caught: 
And all, from man to the poor worm that crawls. 
Felt like worn captives freed from Pagan thralls. 

Spring, sweetest of the seasons! welcome here, 
As calm is to the storm -tossed mariner. 

Wine to the goblet, music to the ear. 
Thou to the poet art, — aye! welcomer. 

When Summer heralds thee unto thy bier. 
As Autumn in his turn shall herald her. 



—270— 

Thy memory to me shall yet be sweet, 

As of loved friends whom still w^e hope to meet. 

But thou, the earliest of the young Spring's dreams, 
Too early cam'st, and met'st the sharp white frost; 

Lured by the Syren -song of babbling streams, 
Venturing too soon, to thy most bitter cost. 

The chill east wind thy tender petals froze. 
And shy and pale thou nestlest quite away 

Among thick leaves, and where the tall grass grow? : 
Thou hast arisen like a starry ray 

Of sudden thought within a poet's brain. 
Or a swift flash of passionate love within 

The soul of woman; and thou dost maintain 
Thyself aloof from the monotonous din 

Of the old twirling oak leaves, from the moan 
Of the gray weeds, the dull monotony 

Of the harsh winds, and the dead limb, that, lone 
And dry, swings creaking from the leafless tree. 

Thou droopest towards the earth again, like one 
For life and its tumultuous storms unfit; 

Now chilled and shivering; but the fiery sun. 
Like a great censer in the sky uplit. 



—271— 

Will shrivel soon thy slight leaves with his fire, 
And thou wilt vanish like a cloudy scroll; 

As many a poet, fainting on his lyre, 

Wastes with the fiery passions of his soul. . 



A FRAGMENT. 



1833. 



Like the young moon, 
When, on the sunlit limits of the night. 
Her white sheen trembles amid crimson air. 
And whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might. 
Doth as the herald of her coming, bear 
The ghost of her dead mother, whose dim form 
Bends in dark ether from her infant's chair. 



LES MARCHANDES. 



FOR A FAIR. 



PRINTEMPS. 

Sweet Spring stands blushing 'mid the flowers, 
Heralded by benignant showers, 

And soft airs through the young leaves sighing 
While winter flits to northern skies. 
But scowls back as he ice -ward hies. 
Enraged at her sweet sunny eyes, 
As she with merry scorn defies 

The grim old graybeard flying: 
Her lovely head with rosebuds crowned. 
Her little feet that glad the ground. 
While flitting bj^ the lilied lakes. 
And dancing rivulets, she makes 
The earth its frostj- fetters break, 
And everything to life awake, 

As when the world began; 
Such, but still merrier, lovelier yet, 
My loving, mischievous, dear pet, 

My blue -eyed Lilian. 



—273— 



AVRIL. 



Young April! waking of a sweet spring morn, 

When the fresh south -wind stirs the panting leaves; 
And with loud welcome to the rose -lipped dawn, 

The mocking-bird floats heavenward from the eaves ;- 
Young April, laughing with her dark, bright eyes, 

Upon the timid flowers that scarce dare raise 
Their jeweled foreheads toward the dewy skies, 

Lit bj' the crimson of the sun's first blaze: — 
April, all smiles and blushes, — such and more, 
Is our dear, little, timid Isadore. 



MAI. 

The merry, laughing, ros}^- fingered May! 

Whose snowy feet upon the thick grass tread. 

As softly as the footsteps of young Day 
Upon a patient mountain's frostj^ head: 

Young May, all smiles, with flowers thick -garlanded, 
And lips whose rich hue shames the envious rose. 
Cheeks like carnations blushing through spring-snows; 

A graceful gait, a lovely leaf-crowned head; — 
Nor Spain nor Italy has ever seen 
A rarer maiden than young Josephine. 



—274- 



JUIN. 

•June! with her lap wealthy with goldeu fruit; 

Young frolic June, under the green trees sleeping! 
Her small head pillowed on a mossy root, 
And on a snowy arm; one rosy foot, 

Half -hidden, through the enamored flowers is peeping; 
The cool west -wind, with rapture almost mute, 

Sings a low tune; and gliding softly there. 
The timid sunshine kisses her sweet face, 

And turns the thick cloud of her soft dark hair 
Into a glory. Lo! she wakes, and grace 

And beauty breathe in every movement. Where, 
In all the world, in what most fortunate place. 

Is face more lovely, eyes that brighter shine? 

Where shall we find a peer for Caroline? 



LA MAITRESSE DE LA POSTE. 

Let Coleridge sing his Genevieve, 
Who at his sad song could but grieve, 

And loved because she pitied; 
And Keats his lovely Madeline, 
With rosy mouth and eyes divine, 

And lips for kisses fitted; 



—275— 

That with her lover through the night, 
Darkness without, within all light, 

To far-off countries flitted. 
Let Tennyson his Lilian sing 

And lovely Oriana, 
And scale the skies with tireless wing. 

In praise of Mariana, 
I sing one lovelier by far. 
One pure and gentle as a star, 

A modest, young, sweet creature. 
In whose fair face a blushing grace 

Illumines every feature. 
Pure as the stainless Alpine snows. 
And lovelier than the sweet moss-rose, — 

What rhyme can, by what poet cannie. 
Tell half the grace and beauty rare. 
That fill like sunshine the glad air, 

And float round Little Annie? 

1850. 



CARISIMA. 



" Do YOU NOT KNOW I LOVE YOU? " — So you Cried, 
And blessed mj^ lips with kisses multiplied, 
Sweeter thau those for which Adonis died — 

Kisses that promised true love's long endurance; 
While your dear eyes in mine my soul were reading, 
With wistful, anxious, eager question pleading, 

To know if I believed the sweet assurance. 

"Yes, I DO KNOW you love me," — I replied, 

"And in that love I am beatified; 

"It is my wealth, my glory, and my pride, 
" The evening-glory of a clouded west:" — 
Without it, earth were but a desert dreary. 
Under life's burthens I should faint and weary. 
And long to fall asleep and be at rest. 

Darling! with what can I such love repay? 
What can October give to delicate May? — 
The afternoon hours of a waning day. 

The saddening Autumn of Life's fading year. — 
I can but give the love that sacrifices 
Itself to bless the one it idolizes, — 

Itself, and all delights to lovers dear. 



—277— 

Sad recollections of the shadowy years, 
Of radiant hopes fainting to gloomy fears, 
Of smiles and laughter dying into tears. 

These, and no more, remain to me of life. 
These and no more! — calamities and crosses, 
Regrets and griefs, reverses, and the losses 

That were the bitter fruits of civil strife. 

Sad memories of lost loves and broken trust, 
Kisses from lips long mouldered into dust, 
Short lived delights that ended in disgust, — 

These are the only treasures of the Past; 
A Past of love, dreams, shadows, mirth and sadness. 
Of hours of reason and long days of madness; 

A morning-sk}^ with clouds soon overcast. 

Youth, Beauty, Genius — more than queenly dower; 
Over men's hearts a more than royal power; 
The certainty of Fame's triumphal hour; 

An hundred worshippers before your throne; — 
How can you, rich with these divine largesses, 
Value my love, or care for my caresses? — 

And yet you are my darling and my own. 

Like dark and rainy days on bitter sands 

Or barren moors — long days in foreign lands. 



—278— 

To one who nothing spoken understands, 

If I did doubt your love, my life would be, — 
Aimless and hopeless, like a vessel drifting. 
Shattered by storm, before the unquiet, shifting, 
Capricious winds, on a dark Northern sea. 

Father in Heaven! I thank thee for the gift 
Of this dear love, my grateful soul to lift 
Out of the depths! — no more I, blinded, drift 

Alone, in darkness, towards the frowning portal 
Beyond whose folds no difference of age is. 
Where those who love may read the same bright pages > 

In the mysterious Book of Love immortal. 

April, 1869. 



SIMILES. 



Above me snows and ice -crags, and around 

The Cordilleras towering, grand and stern; — 
Near me a stream over the black rocks bounding, 
Its echoes from the caverned slopes resounding: — 

Off in the distance a blue, grass -rimmed lake. 

Through which the stream shoots, and the slight waves make 
A soft, low music on the pebbled shore. 

The sun's rays its blue bosom penetrate. 
And still the thirsty waters beg for more; 
And still the sun, from his exhaustless store. 

Rains down his beams, until, with its full freight. 
The lake appears a sheet of silver light 

And liquid diamonds, flashing a full return 
Back to the generous sun. 

Thou, fair and bright. 

Star of my soul! for whom for ever burn 
The altars of my soul's idolatry, 
Let thy soft rays of love into the sea 

Of my sad soul sink and become a part 
Of it and of its essence; then shall I, 

Strong with thy strength, and straggling with stout heart. 
Effect somewhat, before it comes to me to die. 



—280— 
II. 

Lo! the great mountain's snowy shoulders gleam, 

Above the clouds, high in the upper air; 
Perpetual sentinels the giants seem 

Of the lake's quiet. Their gray heads are bare 

In God's great presence, which is mighty there, 
In the ethereal, thin, keen element. 
One floating cloud hath down from heaven leant, 

Far down one slope, and feeds the springing leaves, 
And silently condensing into dew. 

Feeds the parched grass that gratefully receives 
The welcome gift, and gladly grows anew. 
And smiles in the light. 

Dear lady of my love! 
My soul's throned Queen, all empresses above! 

Though distant from me half a continent, 
Where other clouds are floating past the shores 
Against which the Atlantic, dashing, roars; 

Be thou like this one, which the Pacific sent, 
As tribute to the haughty mountains. Here, 
Like a soft cloud or rosy atmosphere. 
Let thy dear love envelope me, and bless 
My sad soul's thirsty desert and parched wilderness. 

1832. 



A DIRGE. 



OVEE A COMPANION, KILLED BY COMANCHE8 AND BURIED IN THE 
PRAIRIE. 



Thy wife shall wait 
Many long days for thee; 

And when the gate 
Swings on its unused hinges, she, 
Opening her dim and grief- contracted eye, 
And still forbidding hope to die. 

Longing for thee will look; 

Till like some lone and gentle summer brook, 
That pineth in the summer- heat away 

And dies some day, 
She waste her mournful life out at her eyes. 

Vainly, ah! vainly we deplore 

Thy death, departed friend! No more 
Shalt thou be seen by us beneath the skies. 

The barbed arrow has gone through 

Thy heart, and all the blue 
Hath faded from thy clay -cold veins, and thou, 
With stern and pain -contracted brow, 
Like one that wrestled mightily with death, 

Art lying there. 

19— P 



—282— 

Whether above the skies, 

Thou at thy death didst soar, 
And treadest Heaven's floor 
With great joy beaming in thine eyes; 

Or buried there 
Commencest an eternal sleep, 
And shalt in a-toms oulj^ rise to the air, - 

As thinks despair; — 
We bid thee here a last, long, sad adieu! 
Rest there, pale sleeper! 
Another trophy of the grim old Reaper, 
Cut down and withering under unknown skies. 
Farewell! our course j'et farther westward lies. 
Thy grave is deeper than the wolf can go, 
And we have driven the wheels above thee, so 
That the Indian may not find thy sepulchre. 
Farewell! for now the trains begin to stir; 
And we with quivering lip, 
And lingering and reluctant step, 
Must leave thee here, alone. Once more, farewell! 

1832. 



GERTRUDE. 



Many sweet flowers in the prairie shine, 

And many in the wood; 
But the fairest flower of all is mine, 

My darling young Gertrude. 
Her hazel eyes so roguish bright, 
Filled with her dear soul's radiant light 
Her rosy, pouting lips invite 

The long, warm kiss: 
And yesterday, at last, I heard 
From that sweet mouth the welcome word 

That makes existence bliss: 
My promised wife, star of my life, 

My darling young Gertrude! 

Many a bird in the prairie sings, 

And many in the wood: 
But none whose song so sweetly rings 

As that of my Gertrude: 
The happy day draws swiftly near, 
When, trusting to my love sincere, 
She will become tenfold more dear, — 

That bright, glad day. 



—284— 

When in my loving, loyal arms, 
Enfolding all lier glowing charms, 

A thousand times I'll say, 
"My dear, sweet wife! star of my life! 

My darling young Gertrude!" 

1843. 



LINES. 

WRITTEN ON THE MOUNTAINS WEST OP THE RIO DEL NORTE. 



The sun's last light is in the sky, 

His last warm breath is on my brow, 
Dark shadows to the mountains high 

Begin to stoop on swift wings now. 
The rudy twilight quivers up 

Above the line of snowy crests. 
Like wine that in an agate cup 

From tremulous motion never rests. 
The great hills in the south grow blue 

And indistinct, and far away 
In the orient their silver hue 

Is changing into sullen gray. 

All objects, where the shadows play. 
Grow dim and indistinctly deep. 
Tired Nature's eyes now close, and she inclines to sleep. 

Into the soul sad fancies swarm, 

As bees swarm, clinging to each other; 
Or waves, when memories of storm 

Excite them to devour each other. 
The dreams of hope, at morning born 

That love the daylight and the sun. 
Have fled, and wander far, forlorn. 

Or vanished slowly, one by one: 



—286— 

And all the painful thoughts that rested, 

In deep calm slumber, in the breast 
Which many a day they have infested, 

Awake, and bitterly molest 

The heart, their most unwilling nest. 
Their home, and worse than all, the food 
Of these, the vulture -eyed, and all their ravening brood. 

One thought of home is often there, 

Like a lone bird, with sad, deep eyes. 
Immovable as dull despair, 

A grief profound that never dies. 
Now when Death's influences seem 

On all the universe around, 
Now when the sleepy mountains dream, 

Plunged into silence most profound; 
When rock and pine, and snow and sky, 

Sleep shaded by Night's dusky wing, 
A sleep like death, to man's dim eye 

The self -same awful, sombre thing; 

All these sad influences bring 
That melancholy thought again. 
And on the heart it falls like a cold winter -rain. 

Perhaps death now is busy there. 

And some dear soul that I have loved, 

Into the chill and desert air 

Hath sadly from its home removed. 



—287— 

Perhaps they mourn some loved one dead 

Thinking of me, the absent, too; 
While I, unconscious, have not shed 

A tear, nor even their sorrow knew. 
Perhaps, whenever I return, 

After my ordered task is done, 
Instead of some loved face and form, 

I maj^ but find a simple stone, 

A sister's cold heart set upon; 
While thej' will long before have ceased 
To mourn for her whom I shall mourn as just deceased. 

'Tis sad to wander all alone 

Through the wide world, a homeless thing, 
Like a lost wave that makes its moan, 

And hastens to the land, to fling 
Its life away upon the shore. 

With nothing near to mourn its death; 
But like the eagle far to soar, 

While Fate his full nest shattereth; 
Then to return, and fainting fly 

Round a wrecked home made desolate. 
Perhaps to hear his young's last cry. 

The last sob of his dying mate; 

This is the sharpest blow of Fate, 
The most unutterable woe, 
Crushing the heart and brain at one tremendous blow. 



—288— 

This must men bear, as men have borne 

A thousand giant woes beside; 
And should this dearest hope be shorn 

Away, this light, that scarce descried, 
Hath been my beacon -fire of late; 

Still I have much to do in life, 
And manfully must front my fate: 

For duty is a constant strife. 
The branchless tree still liveth on, 

The mastless ship still holds her way. 
Nor heeds the wind, the storm, the sun: 

So will I work all life's brief day. 

Doing my duty as I may: 
And some, perhaps, will mourn my death, 
When neither hate prevents, nor envy hindereth. 



1832. 



TO THE MOON. 



Oh, quickly rise, 
Thou lovely and most welcome Moon! 
Look into my sad eyes, 
Ere sober Night too quickly hies; — 
And bless me soon! 

Here I have kept, 
Watching to see thine advent bright. 
While others lay and slept; 
As I at other times have wept. 
For day's fresh light. 

Here I have lain. 
And eastward kept my anxious gaze, 
But all thus far in vain: 
No shower of light like silver rain 
Shines through the haze. 

The evening star 
Has chidden me, saying, "Get to bed! 
She wanders yet afar, 
Where the great Asian deserts are 
Inhabited 



—290— 

' ' By Scythian hordes ; 
Or where the springs of Indus rise; 
Or flash the fiery swords 
Of dry Sahara's Arab lords; 
Or where the skies 

" Smile on the shores 
Of Teneriffe,.or on old Rome: 
Or where the Danube roars; 
Or, tortured by Venetian oars, 
The lagunes foam." 

That star has set 
Behind the western hills; and thou 
Hast not arisen yet. 
Though all the silver stars are met 
In heaven now. 

Ah! here she comes! 
And all those silver stars grow pale, 
As, swimming through gray glooms, 
The queen of love and light illumes 
Crag, hill.'^and dale. 

Now I can sleep. 
If thou wilt but vouchsafe to shine 
From heaven's abysses deep, 
And pleasantly mine eyelids steep 
In light divine. 



—291— 

The stars that peer, 
Like timid children, from on high, 
(Small pilots they, that steer 
Their sparkling boats around thy sphere) , 
Love not as I. 

Adieu ! Adieu ! 
My heavy lids begin to close, 
And from thy domain blue, 
Sleep's gentle and refreshing dew 
Upon them flo.ws. 

Stay in thy flight! 
In at my humble casement shine, 
And bless with thy soft light. 
Oh, silver nautilus of night. 
All that is mine! 

1830. 



THE DYING WIFE. 



Dear husband, raise me in thine arms, — the hour is draw- 
ing near 

"When I must part with thee, and these our little children 
dear. 

Though froward often, I have been a loving, faithful wife, 

And on thy breast I fain would rest, and breathe away 
my life. 

Nay, weep not! let me kiss the tears from thy dear eyes 

away; — 
They are dim with weary watching many a long sad night 

and day: 
It is our heavenly Father's will; I only go before 
To that bright home, where we shall meet, to part again 

no more. 

The fresh world seems more beautiful, as life draws to its 

close, 
For death, like sunset, over it a mellow beauty throws. 
All nature seems more lovely when life's day is nearly 

gone. 
Than when it radiantly glowed, in childhood's rosy dawn. 



—293— 

How pleasantly the soft Spring sky is brightening again! 
How cheerfully the meadows smile, after the sweet soft 

rain! 
The waving corn-fields flash with light, like a forest of 

green spears, 
And on the flowers, like jewels, shine the light rain's 

pearly tears. 

The rustling leaves and pattering drops make music in 

the air, 
The odor of the grateful flowers swells heavenward like a 

prayer. 
The glad birds carol loudly, while they feed their happy 

young, 
And the bees are very busy, leafy labyrinths among. 

Soon will fair sunset's golden feet trample the western hill, 
With crimson light ensandaled, — soon the busy world be 
[ still; 

And long before the rosy morn wakes on the eastern sea. 
Our little ones, dear husband, will be left alone with thee. 

Alas, Alas! my children! Give me strength, dear God in 

Heaven ! 
Thou knowest how most earnestly and truly I have striven 
To bow my heart submissively unto thy will divine; 
Oh, Father, aid and strengthen me! — for I would not repine. 



—294— 

Now, husband, let me clasp them in a last, long, sad 

embrace. 
While yet my dim eyes can discern each sweet familiar 

face; 
To-morrow they will wonder why their mother sleeps so 

still. 
And why they cannot wake her with sweet kisses at their 

will. 

Farewell, dear children! Bitter tears are filling my tired 

eyes,— 
I cannot speak the thousand words, out of my heart that 

rise : 
Your arms around your mother's neck no more will fondly 

twine. 
Your sweet eyes, gazing into hers, no more with gladness 

shine. 

She is going a long journey; many a Spring will come and 

go,— 
To Summer heat and Autumn frosts succeed the Winter 

snow; 
And still, from that far spirit -land, in which the bright 

stars burn. 
No more, when daylight glads the earth, your mother will 

return. 



—295— 

But often, when, at night, your eyes are closed in gentle 

sleep, 
She by each little pillow will a constant vigil keep; 
And while the silver moonlight on each forehead softly 

streams, 
She will visit all her little ones, and talk with them in 

dreams. 

You must love your kind, good father; you must love each 

other well. 
Nor ever say an angry word, nor any falsehood tell: 
Be kind to everything that lives, and though I go before, 
You shall come to me in Heaven, and be with me evermore. 

Dear husband, love our little ones, when I am dead and 

gone. 
When the dewy grass and laughing flowers my grave are 

growing on; 
Oh, cherish and protect them, lest they sadly pine away, 
Like buds on which no longer shines the blessed light of day. 

Thine eyes may fondly look upon some sweet girl's sunny face ; 
A fair young wife may sleep upon thy bosom in my place; 
Other children may be born to thee, thy love with these 

to share, 
But demanding and receiving all their 3'outhful mother's 

care . 



—296— 

Yet these will be as dear to thee; for in each little face, 
The features of thy first love thou wilt still delight to trace : 
I leave them, a rich legacy, beyond all price, to thee, 
And I know that thou wilt love them, for the love I bear 
to thee. 

Slow sinks the sun, — the world grows dark, — dear husband, 

let us praj^! 
I am ready now resignedly to pass from earth away: 
But a thought of thee, beloved, when all other thoughts 

depart, 
Will linger yet, within the cold, dark chambers of the heart. 

1840. 



A LAMENT FOR DIXIE. 



Southrons, conquered, subjugated, 
Mourn your country devastated! 

Mourn for hapless, hopeless Dixie! 
Homes once happy, desolated, 
Church and altar desecrated; 

Mourn for fallen , ruined Dixie ! 

Lament the fall of Dixie! 

Alas ! Alas ! 
On Dixie's land we'll sadly stand, 
And live or die for Dixie, 

Endure! Endure! 
All ills endure for Dixie! 

Endure ! Endure ! 
All ills endure for Dixie! 

Mourn your dead whose bones lie bleaching, 
Courage to the living teaching; 

Wail, but still be proud for Dixie! 
Mourn your Southland, crushed and trampled, 
Bearing sorrows unexampled; 

Wail, but still be proud for Dixie? 
Lament, &c. 

' Prey despoiled and victim bleeding, 
Not to man for mercy pleading, 

20-P 



—298— 

'' Unto God alone cries Dixie: 
Cross of anguish bravely bearing, 
Crown of thorns submissive wearing, 
Patient and resigned is Dixie. 

Lament, &e. 

All our States lie fainting, dying, 
Each to each with sobs replying, 

Each still loving, honoring Dixie: 
By the accurst scourge lacerated, 
By her freed slaves ruled and hated, 

She is still our own dear Dixie. 

Lament, &c. 

Dear to us our conquered banners. 
Greeted once with loud hosannas; 

Dear the tattered flag of Dixie: 
Dear the field of Honor glorious, 
Where, defeated or victorious. 

Sleep the immortal Dead of Dixie. 

Lament, &c. 

Conquered, we are not degraded. 
Southern laurels have not faded; 

Mourn, but not in shame, for Dixie! 
Deck your Heroes' graves with garlands, 



—299— 

Till the echo comes from far lands, 
"Honor to the dead of Dixie! " 

Lament, &c. 

All is not yet lost unto us, — 
Baseness only can undo us; 

Mourn, — you cannot blush, — for Dixie! 
Kneeling at your country's altar, 
Swear your children not to falter, 

Till the right shall rule in Dixie. 

Lament, &c. 

If her fate be sealed, we'll share it; 
By our shroudless dead we swear it; 

Ours the life or death of Dixie! 
By her Past's all -glorious stor5% 
By her loyal Martyrs' glory, 

We will live or die with Dixie! 

Lament, &c. 

Shall there to our Night of Sorrow 
Be no glad and bright To-morrow? 

Is hope, even, lost to Dixie? — 
Every dark night hath its morning. 
Long, though, oft, delayed its dawning: 

Wait! be patient! pray for Dixie! 



—300— 

Hope for dawn for Dixie! 

Endure ! Endnre ! 
On Dixie's land we'll fearless stand, 
And hope and pray for Dixie. 

Endure! Endnre! 
All ills endure for Dixie! 

Endure! Endure! 
All ills endure for Dixie! 



1868. 



JUBILATE. 



Now our night of terror endeth, 
God his Rose of Dawn now sendeth, 
Giving life and light to Dixie: 
Arms no longer Fraud sustaining, 
Knaves and thieves no longer reigning, 
Hope is once more born for Dixie. 
Life has come to Dixie; 

She's free! free!! free!!! — 
On Dixie's land we now may stand, 
No longer tortured Dixie: 

She's free ! f i-ee ! ! free ! ! ! 
Our own, dear, wasted Dixie: 

She's free ! free ! ! free ! ! ! 
For God is good to Dixie. 



1877. 



ELLEN. 

We parted in the Spring, 
When the flowers were all in bloom, 
When the air was loaded with perfume, 

And birds were on the wing: 
Fondly the dear girl I caressed; 
To her fair brow my lips I pressed, 
Clasping her closely to my breast, 
Then turned my sad eyes to the West, 

And left my darling Ellen. 

We parted at the spring, 
Where first she told her love, 
The thick stars shining bright above. 

The waters murmuring. 
We were so poor we could not wed, 
Lest we and ours should want for bread; 
And so my humble sail I spread, 
And westward turned my shallop's head, 

To work, and win my Ellen. 

She was a young thing then; 
Her bright eyes filled with tears: 
Her bosom, then disturbed with fears, 

Shall bound with joy again. 



—302— 

At last, my long probation's done; 
Four weary years their course have run. 
And, fame and fortune earned and won, 
I come to my beloved one, 

My true love, my sweet Ellen. 

Ho, Soldan! Ho, good steed! 
This is the last day's ride: 
Bear me but safe to Ellen's side. 

And thou shalt rest indeed; 
When, smiling through a rain of tears, 
She pours in my enraptured ears 
Her tale of many hopes and fears. 
That haunted her for four long years, — 

My fond, my faithful Ellen. 

Then, parted nevermore. 
Our life shall calmly glide. 
Like a clear river's tranquil tide 

Along a grassy shore; 
Or, if there come some carking care 
Between us we'll the burden share, 
Making it easier to bear: — 
Ho, Soldan! we are almost there! 

Speed on to my sweet Ellen! 



1840. 



BROWN OCTOBER. 



October, brown October, with his slow 

And melancholy step, has left the hills 
And comes upon the plains. The wild winds blow 

Through the thick leaves, with cold and gusty thrills, 
Turning their greenness to the sere red hues 

Of sober Autumn. Through the murmuring dells, 
Heralded by the frost, that wildly strews 

The faded leaves along his way, strides on 
The sober Month: and over the bright eye 
Of the desponding sun. 
The cold clouds fold their vesture dun. 
Or on the bare gray hills like couching eagles lie. 

The crimson heart of every summer flower 

Has pined away; and round the withered stalks 
The gray and faded leaves begin to shower 

Into a rotting mass: uncertain flocks 
Of winged seeds go floating through the air. 

Steered by mad winds: struck by the noiseless shocks 
Of the white frost, the long night busy there. 

The nuts bestrew the ground. Fields mourn the loss 
Of verdure; and the stubble, dry and gray. 
That the chill wind-gusts toss. 
While the dun clouds drift thick across. 
Seems, with a useless life, to sadly waste away. 



—304— 

How well the time accordeth with the soul! 

Autumn is in the heart: and these sere woods, 
These winds that coldly through the valley roll, 

These dull blue clouds, these withered solitudes, 
Gray weeds and falling leaves, do all resemble 

The lonely season on the soul that broods: 
The winds of sorrow through its pale blights tremble, 

Its falling hopes and passions in decay. 
Like the dead leaves, give melancholy warning, 
That life ebbs fast away 
From the sad heart, once glad and gay 
With the unsullied greenness of its life's young morning. 

And now, oh Life! it makes its calm farewell! 

No peace or joy it hopeth for on earth. 
The crimson fountain once did gladly swell, 

But now it hardly throbs. The jocund mirth 
Of boyhood's day has gone, and in its stead 

Sit Weariness, and Loneliness, and Dearth: 
The golden visions from the soul have fled. 

And each has left a sombre shadow there. 
Amid which memory sees the once -loved faces. 
And in the whispering air 
• Hears soft, sweet voices say, " Prepare, 
O weary one, to leave the old and well-known places." 

1832. 



YpE 8m^E]^ WEmi^Q. 



A MA^OUE, 



TPersoaated at 'WasKiRglon, on {he 8tK of ^pril, 

1878. 



James Alexander Williamson: 
Ann Whitfield Gregory: 

Married April 7, 1853. 

Annus Eiofiteen Hundred and Fifty-tfiree. 
Annus Eighteen Hundred and oeventy-eigfit. 

Content, the Nymph Autarke. 

Peace, the Nymph Eirene. 

Love, the Nymph Philotes. 

Confidence, the Nymph Pistis. 

Spring Marine. 

Summer Thereia. 

A'ltiiQin Phthinoporon. 

Winter Cheimon. 



THE SILVER WEDDING. 

A MASQUE. 



Annus 1853 loquitur. 
Ho! Eighteen Hundred Seventy -Eight, what means this 

concourse here? 
Whereat we are by Father Time commanded to appear, 
Your predecessors twenty -five, part of the long array. 
Which waits for you to join it, at the close of your brief 

day?— 
We come from that dim land, the Past, thick -peopled 

with dead years. 
Which, born with smiles, grew old with cares, and died 

with sobs and tears: 
We come, as unto aged men the memories come, that 

bring 
Past joys to give delight, past griefs again the heart to 

sting. 
Guests welcome or unwelcome we, according as we bear 
Remembrances, to Serf or King, of happiness or care. 
Of joys or sorrows, weal or woe, of honour or of shame, 
For which some glorify the Past, some bitterly defame. 



VOICES, AFAR OFF. 



North — The Past is the Fate of the Present; 
Is a Realm no change that knows; 



—SOS- 
South — Is the Lawgiver of the Future, 

The source of its joys and woes ; 
East — The dead Years are diademed Monarchs, 

Whom the Years that come after obey; 
West — And yesterday is as remote from us, 

As the Stars are far away. 



Annus 1878 loquitur. 

You bring, as every Year's ghost brings, sad memories 

to all. 
Of losses, disappointments, griefs, that rich and poor 

enthrall; 

Yet here you and your comrades bring remembrance of 

Content, 
Of good deeds done, of virtuous lives, of no days idly 

spent, 
Of much to be with pride reviewed, of little to regret. 
Of plighted vows unbroken, and of love not weary yet. 
You are welcome, Years of peace and war! in this Elysium, 

where 
Parents and children cheerfully life's chafing burdens bear; 
Thou, Eighteen Fifty- three, who heardst the vows that 

made these one, 
And Ye who know how nobly they the work of life have 

done. 



—309— 

You come as witnesses to prove that they have ever been 
Fond husband, faithful, loving wife, patient, unvexed, serene ; 
As witnesses, renewal of those solemn vows to hear; 
Though Ghosts, yet guests most welcome at the Silver 
Wedding's cheer. 



Annus 1853 loquitur. 

Let, then, the Shades of all the dark, sad days. 

That make large part of every dead Year's train, 
Of every woe that stings and sin that slays. 

Unto the Past's dark realm retire again! 
But let the Shades of Sorrows here remain. 
Which, born with patience, ble.-ssings proved and gain. 
With these blest Shades let those appear that make 

The home a heaven in which they do abide;' 
Let them here live, nor in all time forsake 

The house by loving memories sanctified. 
Come! fair Content, Peace, Love and Confidence, 
Sisters of Hope, and born of Innocence. 

Come! with the Seasons of the living Year, 

And while these bring gay flowers and golden fruit, 

For those who are to many friends so dear. 
Let them not be indifferent or mute. 

But with fair wishes kindly spoken bless 

Those who so well do merit happiness. 



*** Here enter, hand in hand, four young ladies, dressed in white, 
representing Content, Peace, Love, Confidence; and two repre- 



—310— 

senting Spring and Summer, with two men representing Autumn and 
Winter; who all enclose the husband, wife and children in a circle; 
and Spring, Summer and Autumn crown them with wreaths of flowers, 
and set at their feet baskets of fruit, at the appointed times, ^j.** 



Loquitur Content. 

I am the Nymph Content: — 

I come with treasures in my hands, — 
Not gold nor gems from many lands, 
But tranquil thoughts and gentle words, 
That please like flowers and songs of birds; 
To me the home enchantment owes. 
The flowers that bloom amid the snows, 
The heart's calm ease, to bravely bear 
Reverses, wrongs, and daily care. 

Hear what an English Poet sung, 
In the days when Queen Elizabeth was young. 
\*Some one at a distance reads : 

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of Content; 

The quiet mind is richer than a ci-own; 
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent. 

The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown; 
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, 
That make homes happy, ever dwell in this! 
The homely house that harbors peaceful rest, 
The cottage that affords no pride nor care. 
The modest ways of maidens neatly drest. 
The sweet consort of mirth and music rare, 



—311— 



These make the truest and most lasting bliss; 
A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 



Loquitur Peace. 
I am the Nymph Peace; — 

There is peace in the lonelj^ cells, 

In the Convent's cloisters grey, 
Where, sweet as the chime of the Convent -bells, 

Life calmly glides away. 
But better the peace that blesses 

The family in its home, 
Where th,e grey hairs mingle with bright brown tresses, 

And the Young care not to roam; 
Where the eyes of one sister are bright. 

And the voice of another is sweet, 
And the father reads in the soft still light, 

And the children play at his feet. 
The home of a mother's delight, 

The haven of wedded bliss, 
A home that is tranquil and gay and bright, 

Even such a home as this. 



Loquitur Love. 

I am the life of the household. 

The Love of the husband and wife. 

The love between parents and children. 
The love that is dearer than life. 



—312— 

Eyes by me lighted grow brighter, 

Hearts by me warmed are glad, 
Homes where I live are lighter, 

And sorrowing souls less sad. 
When the bridal flowers have withered, 

I do not pine away. 
My flowers bloom and are gathered 

In November as in May. 
They fade not, this home perfuming, 

As thej^ did so long ago. 
Here they shall still be blooming. 

When Winter brings his snow. 



Loquitur Confidence. 
1 am the Nymph Confidence: — 

I drive away distrust and doubt. 

That into homes like serpents crawl; 
And jealousy, that coils about 

The heart and turns the blood to gall. 
Mine are the true and loving eyes. 

Through which one looks in on the Soul, 
The loyal troth that Time defies. 

The faith that can mistrust control. 
Here I abide, a constant guest. 

With Peace and Love, and sweet Content; 
By us this home shall still be blest. 

Beyond the reach of accident. 



—313— 
Annus 1878 loquitur. 

Now let my seasons four their homage pay, 

Bringing their offerings meet; 
First Spring, a maiden sprightly, blithe and gay, 

With delicate dancing feet; 
Then Summer, on whose lips departing May 

Pressed kisses long and sweet; 
Then Autumn, sober- clad in russet grey. 

Then Winter, white with sleet. 



Loquitur Earine, Spring. 

When the man was the maiden wooing. 

And life was a troop of bright hours, 
I smiled on and favored the suing. 

And crowned them with garlands of flowers. 
Again I bring roses and pansies, 

Carnations and hyacinths, too. 
Fair types of all delicate fancies. 

To crown these now wedded anew. 

[Giving Flowers.] 
White rosebuds and lilies the rarest. 

Camellias, violets blue,' 
For these, among maidens the fairest, 

Whose eyes are so tender and true. 

[Giving Flowers.] 

21— P 



—314— 

May the world not for them lose its brightness, 
As the years chase each other away, 

Nor their hearts lose the innocent lightness, 
That makes them so happy to-day. 



Loquitur Thereia, Summer. 

When the Spring died, and I was queen. 

Twenty -five years ago. 
And the flowers still bloomed, and the leaves were green, 
And the birds sang loud or low, 

The maiden was matron, and home was gay. 
And the hours swifted -footed danced away. 
To wife and husband I brought fruits then. 

Golden and green and purple and red. 
Now flowers and fruits I bring again. 
After so many years have fled. 
Their summer of life is ended, — 
May its memories that remain. 
Of joys and sorrows blended, 

Give more of pleasure than pain. 



Loquitur Phthinoporon, Autumn, 

When the days in October grow shorter and colder, 
And leaves are crimsoned by frost. 



—315— 

May these friends whom we love, growing grayer and older, 

No days have to count as lost! 
May the world still for them be a good world to live in, 

With good in it always to do, 
A good world to help and to comfort and give in. 

With praise for the honest and true. 



May they be never sick of hope deferred, 
Nor in the field or vineyard toil in vain; 

Nor words of kindness be by them unheard, 
Nor thanklessness of children give them pain. 



Loquitur Cheimon, Winter. 

When I, with storm of snow and sleet 

And wind loud -howling reign. 
And pavements are icy in every street, 

And rivers rebel in vain. 
In the inter- spaces between the storms. 

When the sky is cold and clear, 
May these not want the fire that warms. 

And the good old-fashioned cheer! 
Nor the good old wishes become but forms, 
"Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year." 



—316— 

For the Poet has said and sung 

These words, that are wise and true, 
" The Old need not envy the Young, 

" The Old need not scorn the new ; 
"For hearts can be warm when days are cold, 

"And the night may hallow the day, 
"Till the heart, though at even-tide weary and old, 

"May rise in the morning gay, 

"To its work in the bright new day." 



Loquitur Annus 1853. 

Thus said the Poet, in the olden time, 
When sense not sound builded the statelj^ rhyme, — 
"The cottage nestling in the lowly dale, 

" 111 fortune never fears, because so low; 
"The anchored mind, dreading no fickle gale, 

"Sleeps safe when Fate doth Princes overthrow;" 
Content still smiles, when portly statesmen feel 
That fear and danger tread upon their heel. 



If Fortune frowns and scowls, may that to these work good! 

If Fortune flattering smiles, may it not prove a snare! 
May crosses bravely borne, ills patiently withstood. 

And length of peaceful daj^s for new life them prepare! 



—317— 

May hope gild every cloud, Faith make the future bright, 
And patience them maintain in quiet and delight; 
While, till their changeless love shines into perfect day, 
Bravely they hand in hand do walk their homeward way, 
And hear, behind the bells in wintry Autumn ringing. 
The soft sweet chorus of the loving angels singing. 



THE BRIDAL. 



Ring, bells! your glad carillons, 
For two fond hearts made one. 

The old, old story telling, 
In Paradise begun. 

To holy church now cometh 
The soldier with his bride, 

Up the aisle gravely pacing. 
Unto the altar side. 

Worth against many rivals, 
Wins more than golden fruit: 

Grace, virtue, genius, beauty, 
Eeward his patient suit. 

Queen over hearts long reigning, 
She lays her sceptre down. 

One heart must now content her. 
One love be all her crown. 

Must Ave say "Good-bye!" Darling? 

Ah! word so hard to say! 
Must we, so long adoring. 

Give you to him, to-day? 



—319— 

Dear heart of child so loving, 

So tender and so true, 
Heart that is ever seeking. 

Some generous act to do: 

Dear eyes so bright in gladness. 

To loved ones' faults so blind, 
So eloquent in sadness, 

When fortune was unkind. 

Hands that were never weary 

Of toil for other's sake; 
Tongue that with sweet tones pleading. 

Bitter words never spake: 

We part with her in sorrow, 

We give her up with tears. 
Losing with her the blessing 

Of all the coming years. 

Take, then, this gift most precious, 

Be to her kind and true! 
And as you guard and keep her, 

May God be good to you! 

May 28, 1871 



"EIIOS. 

Chaunted by Jack Savage, at the Life-Wake of the Fine 
Arkansas Gentleman, who died before his time, 1859.* 



A gentleman from Arkansaw, not long ago, 'tis said, 
Waked up one pleasant morning, and discovered he was 

dead ; 
He was on his way to Washington, not seeking for the 

spoils, 
But rejoicing in the promise of a spree at Johnny Coyle's. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, one spree at Johnny 

Coyle's; 
And who would not be glad to join a spree at 

Johnny Coyle's? 

He waked and found himself aboard a rickety old boat; 

Says the ferryman, when questioned, "on the Styx you are 
afloat;" 

"What! deadf said he; — "indeed you are," the grim old 
churl replied; 

"Why, then, I'll miss the spree at Coyle's," the gentle- 
man replied. 

One spree at Johnny Coj'le's, &c. 

*Oeeasioned by a report that Gen. Pike had died a month pre- 
viously. 



—321— 

Old Charon ferried him across the dirty, sluggish tide, 
But he swore he would not tarry long upon the further 

side ; 
The ancient ghosts came flocking round upon the Stygian 

shore; — 
"But,'' said he, "excuse me; I must have at Coyle's one 

frolic more." 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

Horace and old Anacreon in vain would have him stay; 
From all those ancient fogies he made haste to get away; 
For his Majesty, King Pluto, he was bound at once to see. 
And at Johnny Coyle's, on Friday night, alive or dead 
to be. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

Old Cerberus growled savagely, as he approached the gate ; 
"But," said he, "I've seen too many dogs for you to make 

me wait; 
"If you show your teeth at me, my dog, your windpipe I 

shall twist; 
"For if I were not to be at Coyle's, I'm sure I should be 

missed." 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 



—322— 

He crossed the adamantine halls, and reached the ebon 

throne, 
Where gloomj^ Pluto frowned, and where his queen's soft 

beauty shone. 
"What want you here?" the Monarch said: "Your 

Majesty," said he, 
"Permission at one frolic more at Johnny Coyle's to be." 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

"As Orpheus came, aud yet returned, to breathe the upper air, 
"So I your royal bounty crave, once more to venture there; 
"Give me one night — no more; — Alas! such nights are 

all too few! 
"One more refection of the Gods ; and then, good world, adieu ! 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

" 'Tis not for power, or wealth, or fame, I hanker to 

return, 
"Nor that love's kisses once again upon my lips may burn; 
"Let me but once more meet the friends that long have 

been so dear, 
"And who, if I'm not there, will say, 'Would God that he 

were here!' " 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &e. 



—323— 

"Are you not deadf the King then said. ''Well, what 

of that?" said he, 
"If I AM dead, I've not been waked, and buried decently." 
"And why," the Monarch cried, "desire again to share 

life's toils, 
"For the sake of one good frolic more, even at Johnny 

Coyle's?" 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

"We've Nectar and Ambrosia here; we do not starve 

the dead." — 
"Did you ever sample canvass -backs and terrapins?" he said : 
"The table of your Majesty well served is, I dare say; 
"But I wish you were at Johnny Coyle's, to taste 

his St. Peray." 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

"If its good company you want," the King said, 

" We've the best— 
"Philosophers, Poets, Orators,Wits, Statesmen, and the rest; 
"The courtiers of the good old times, the gentlemen 

most rare." — 
Says he, "With those I'll meet at Coyle's your folks will 

not compare," 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 



—324— 

Says the King, "There's Homer here, and all the 

bards of aueieut Greece, 
"And the chaps that sailed away so far to fetch the 

golden fleece ; 
"We've Tully, Horace, and Montaigne." Says he, "I'll 

match the lot, 
"If you'll let me go to Johnny Coyle's, and fetch them 

on the spot." 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

"Whom will yon bring?" said Pluto. — "Charley Boteler 

first I'll bring. 
Facile princeps of good fellows, always ready for a ring, 
In whose presence Aleibiades eclipsed shall hide his head, 
And Charley shall take rank among the Past's illustrious 

dead." 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, »&c. 

"The next shall Walter Lenox be, the generous and true, 
Who loves the old friends better than he e'er can love 

the new; 
Jack Savage next, who, heart in hand, demands who wants 

a friend? 
Where Freedom is to fight for, where the Right is to defend? 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 



—325— 

"I'll bring you Burwell, Prince of Wits and Prince of 

Statesmen, too, 
Who like Bayard, the dauntless Knight, reproach and 

fear ne'er knew: 
Ash. White, whose heart, defying time, is always in its 

youth ; 
George Gideon, grand in honesty, grand in the simple 

truth. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

"I'll bring you Philip Barton Key, the Roman Tully's 
peer. 

And Jonah Hoover, frank and brave, straight -forward 

and sincere; 
McGuiRE, the generous, liberal friend, the patron of the 

arts, 
Who, not content with fortune, takes delight in winning 

hearts. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c, 

"Modest, reserved and silent, ingenuous, bashful, shy, 
Shelton McKenzie shall descend, your drinkables to try; 
The generous boon -companion he, the genial humorist. 
Who counts his friends by thousands, and ne'er drops one 
from the list. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 



—326— 

"And AXiEXANDER Dimitry's great soul shall come to claim 
Its place among the giants, and upon the roll of fame; 
The noble by God's patent he, the fiery and the frank, 
Who at the living springs of Truth its inspiration drank. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

"I'll bring the Empresario, Bev. Tucker, who shall win 

From Pericles Aspasia, if he chooses to go in; 

The man without an enemy, the wit, the Sheridan 

In whom two continents confess the gallant gentleman. 

One spree at Johnny' Coyle's, &c. 

"The Barrow- Knight, Ben Perley Poore, shall come queer 

tales to tell, 
Who as writer, friend, wit, gentleman, all he aims to do, 

does well; 
George French, our paragon, shall come, to charm 

your ghosts with song. 
Till Tartarus seems Elysium, to the fascinated throng. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, See. 

"Hugh Caperton shall come likewise, the generous Advocate, 
Who never lets the Right upon Expediency wait; 
And Arnold Harris, in whom all the manly virtues blend, 
Good soldier, clever gentleman, frank foeman, loyal friend. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 



—327— 

"If these will not coutent "you, Robert Johnson, I'll 

bring, too, 
The very bravest of the brave, the truest of the true; 
Impulsive, generous, fearless, frank, the Senate's Paladin, 
Who never did ungenerous act a victory to win. 

One spree at Johnny Coj-le's, &c. 

"And with him Johnny Coyle himself, who never left a 

friend. 
Nor harbored an ignoble thought, nor sought a selfish end; 
The Arthur he among his knights, the pride of all his peers, 
Whose soul but grows more generous, with the swift 

revolving years." 

One spree at Johnny Coyle 's, &c. 

"Enough!" old Pluto cried; "the law must be enforced, 

'tis plain; 
If with those fellows once you get, you'll ne'er return 

again ; 
One night would not content you, and your face would 

ne'er be seen, 
After that spree at Johnny Coyle's, by me or by my 

Queen. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 



—328— 

"And if all these fellows came at once, what would be- 
come of us? 

They'd drowu old Charon in the Styx, and murder Cer- 
berus ; 

Make love to all the women here, and even to my wife; 

Drink all my liquor up, and be the torment of my life. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c, 

"They'd laugh and sing and rollick here, and turn night 

into day; 
While every one his best would do to drive dull care 

away; 
We'll take them by instalments, sir ; so you may 

e'en remain. 
And dismiss all hope of visiting the upper world 

again." 

One spree at Johnny Coj^le's, &c. 

Now something rash would have been said by 

Arkansaw, no doubt, 
But the Queen winked at him, as to say, "take 

care what you're about!" 
For yery much elated was the fair Proserpine, 
At the promise of unbounded fun with this good company. 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 



—329— 

So then she hnug round Pluto's neck, and to her 

snowy breast 
She clasped the cross old vagabond, and fondly him 

caressed ; 
And while her kisses warm and soft upon his lips 

did rain, 
She murmured, "Let him go, my love, he'll surely 

come again." 

One spree at Johnny Cojde's, &c. 

Said he, "I won't;" said she, "Dear Lord, do let 

me have my way! 
Let him be present at his wake! How can you say 

me nay? 
I'm sure you do not love me; if you did, you'd 

not refuse. 
When I want to get the fashions, and you want to 

hear the news." 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, &c. 

And so at last the Queen prevailed, as women alwaj^s do. 
And thus it comes that once again this gentleman's 

with you; 
He's under promise to return, but that he means to break, 
And many another spree to have, besides this present wake. 

22-P 



—330— 

One spree at Johnny Coyle's, one spree at 

Johnny Coyle's; 
And who would not be glad to join a spree at 

Johnny Coyles? 



"THE FINE ARKANSAS GENTLEMAN." 



This was written iu the winter of 1852-3, at Washington. 

The credit of originating it is due to William M. Burwell, then 
of Liberty, Virginia, now of New Orleans, who was that winter at 
Washington, — a person of infinite humor, a capital scholar and most 
original thinker. He composed three or four of the verses and 
handed tliem to Albert Pike, who completed the song. 

The subject of it, "The Fine Arkansas Gentleman," was Major 
Elias Eector, of Arkansas, long a resident of that State and living 
near the border, or the Choctaw and Cherokee lines, but who was 
that winter at Washington, seeking the position of Marshal of the 
Arkansas district, which he had before held for several years, but 
lost upon the accession of President Taylor. 

Major Rector was a zealous Democrat, but with many warm 
friends on the other side. These friendships, which were lasting 
ones, he owed to his genial nature, his generosity, courage, high 
sense of honor, and abundant hospitality. He was a person of fine 
presence, of great intelligence, and of an excellent and most original 
quaint wit ; one of his peculiarities being that he wore his hair long, 
and put up with a comb, like a woman's. In the earlier days of Ar- 
kansas, when the strife of polities was exceedingly bitter, he was a 
bold, daring partizan, often engaged in personal difficulties and mak- 
ing many enmities, all of which he outlived. No man had a kinder 
heart, warmer affections, or a more true, generous and loyal nature. 
Nor was any man more courtly and like an English gentleman in his 
manners. 

The song was sung for the first time when he was present, and 
at a party given by Robert W. Johnson, then a member of the 
House of Representatives, and afterwards Senator from Arkansas. 

Dr. Wm. p. Reyburn was a physician residing in New Orleans, 
and at that time in Washington. He had, many years before, lived 
in Arkansas, and was an intimate friend of Major Rector. The 
Doctor was immensely corpulent, and brimful of joke, jest and anec- 
dote, a gourmand, easy and indolent, but of vigorous intellect and 
great shrewdness, jovial, generous, and loyally trustworthy, a better 
Falstaff, in all the huge Knight's good qualities, including his wit, 
than Hackett himself. Dear old fellow! he returned to Arkansas in 
1861, a Surgeon in the Confederate Army, after an absence of more 
than twenty years, to die and be buried there. 

Prindle, though the keeper of a gaming house on Pennsylvania 
Avenue, was a good, true, honest, generous man, whose kindness of 
heart and lavish bounties and his own improvidence at last made him 
poor. He had often returned to young men the money they had lost 
to his Bank; and was therefore liked and respected by many who 
knew him well, and among whom many had National reputations. — 
[Note by Gen. Pike. 



—332 — 

I. 

Now all good fellows, listen, and a story I will tell 
Of a mighty clever gentleman who lives extremely well 
In the western part of Arkansas, close to the Indian line, 
Where he gets drunk once a week on whisky, and imme- 
diately sobers himself completely on the very best of 

wine ; 

A fine Arkansas gentleman, 

Close to the Choctaw line! 



II. 



This fine Arkansas gentleman has a mighty fine estate 
Of five or six thousand acres or more of land, that will 

be worth a great deal some day or other if he don't 

kill himself too soon, and will only condescend to 

wait; 
And four or five dozen negroes that would rather work than 

not, 
And such quantities of horses, and cattle, and pigs, and 

other poultry, that he never pretends to know how 

many he has got; 

This fine Arkansas gentleman, 
Close to the Choctaw line! 



—333— 

III. 

This fine Arkansas gentleman has built a splendid house 
On the edge of a big prairie, extremly well populated with 

deer, and hares, and grouse; 
And when he wants to feast his friends he has nothing 

more to do 
Than to leave the pot -lid off, and the decently behaved 

birds fly straight into the pot, knowing he'll shoot 

them if they don't; and he has a splendid stew, 
This fine Arkansas gentleman, 
Close to the Choctaw line! 



IV. 



This fine Arkansas gentleman makes several hundred 

bales. 
Unless from drought or worm, a bad stand, or some other 

damned contingency, his crop is short or fails; 
And when it's picked, and ginned, and baled, he puts it 

on a boat. 
And gets aboard himself likewise, and charters the bar, 

and has a devil of a spree, while down to New 

Orleans he and his cotton float. 

This fine Arkansas gentleman. 
Close to the Choctaw line! 



-334- 
V. 



And when he gets to New Orleans he sacks a clothing 

store, 
And puts up at the City Hotel, the St. Louis, the St. 

Charles, the Veranda, and all the other hotels in the 

city, if he succeeds in finding any more; 
Then he draws upon his merchant, and goes about and 

treats 
Every man from Kentucky, and Arkansas, and Alabama, 

and Virginia, and the Choctaw nation, and every 

other damned vagabond he meets! 

This fine Arkansas gentleman, 
Close to the Choctaw line! 



VI. 



The last time he was down there, when he thought of 
going back. 

After staying about fifteen days, more or less, he dis- 
covered that by lending and by spending, and being 
a prey in general to gamblers, haekmen, loafers, bro- 
kers, hoosiers, tailors, servants, and many other 
individuals, white and black. 

He distributed his assets, and got rid of all his means, 



—335— 

And had nothing left to show for them, barring two or 
three headaches, an invincible thirst, and an extremely 
general and promiscuous acquaintance in the afore - 
said New Orleans; 

This fine Arkansas gentleman, 

Close to the Choctaw line! 

VII. 

Now, how this gentleman got home is neither here nor 
there, 

But I've been credibly informed that he swore worse than 
forty -seven pirates, and fiercely combed his hair; 

And after he got safely home, they say he took an oath 

That he'd never bet a cent again at any game of cards, 
and, moreover, for want of decent advisers, he fore- 
swore whisky and women both; 

This fine Arkansas gentleman. 
Close to the Choctaw line ! 

VIII. 

This fine Arkansas gentleman went strong for Pierce and 

King, 
And so came on to Washington to get a nice fat office, or 

some other equally comfortable thing; 



—336— 

But like him from Jerusalem that went to Jericho, 

He fell among thieves again, and could not win a bet 

whether he coppered it or not, so his cash was bound 

to go — 

This fine Arkansas gentleman, 

Close to the Choctaw line! 



IX. 



So when his moneys all were gone, he took unto his bed, 
And Dr. Reyburn physicked him, and the chamber-maid, 

who had a great affection for him, with her arm held 

up his head; 
And all his friends came weeping round, and bidding him 

adieu. 
And two or three dozen preachers, whom he didn't know 

at all, and didn't care a damn if he didn't, came 

praying for him too; 

This fine Arkansas gentleman. 
Close to the Choctaw line! 



They closed his eyes and laid him out all ready for the 

tomb, 
And merely to console themselves they opened the biggest 

kind of a game of faro right there in his own room; 



—337— 

But when he heard the checks, he fluug the linen off his 
face, and sung out, just precisely as he used to 
do when he was alive, " Prindle, don't turn! hold on! 
I go twenty on the king, and copper on the ace! " 

This fine Arkansas gentleman, 

Close to the Choctaw line! 



AFTER-DINNER. 



EXPLANATION. 



In the winter of 1859-1860, Beverly Tucker, then Coansul at 
Liverpool, sent John F. Coyle, of Washington, a saddle of mutton, 
and sundry pheasants and other game. Upon this John made up a 
dinner party of twenty, doing so on the condition that I should write 
something to be sung at table. The result was the following ' 'werses, ' ' 
which were sung by Jack Savage. In each verse after the sixth, a 
blank was left, where the person named in it was to write his name ; 
which each did when the verse had been sung. A copy of it was 
transmitted to "Bev." by next mail. He had it lithographed, and 
sent over a few copies, of one whereof the following is a printed 
copy. 

Of the twenty persons, eight only are now living. Worthless as 
a poem, the lines are priceless to me for the signatures and the memo- 
ries they invoke. — [Albert Pike. 



Heu! Quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, 
Quam istorum qui deciderunt meminisse. 



AFTER DINNER. 



To Beverley Tucker, Esquire, Greeting: 

Dear Bev. this greeting goes to you across the Atlantic brine, 
From the little room at Johnny Coyle's where once we 

used to dine, 
And where we've met today, to eat your mutton and 

your game, 
Which lately over that same brine, a welcome present came. 

Of course the Host himself presides, this memorable 
night, 

With "Jon" Kingman on his left, Will Hunter on his 

right; 
At the foot our genial Mayor, better known as Jim 

Berrett, 
On either hand of whom Clem Hill, and Walter Lenox sit. 

Between these jovial chiefs, your friends around the 

table throng; 
Hugh Caperton, of martial fame. Jack Savage, full of song, 
Arnold Harris, Charley Boteler, who was never known 

to tire, 
Buck Bayliss, Robert Johnson, Charley Winder, Jim 

McGuire. 



—340— 

Knox Walker, from far Tennessee, by Jonah Hoover sits, 
And Albert Pike, of Arkansaw the glass ne'er pretermits: 
Ned Tidball, Major Donoho, and Roj-al Robert Onld, 
Just twenty, Bev.! you recollect the room will no more 
hold. 

In Oeil de Perdrix, St. Marceaux, Veuve Chiquot, St. 

Peray, 
In Liebfraunmilch, Latour, Lafitte, and ruddy Romance, 
In ripe Amontillado we remember you, old friend! 
And Sercial and Buel to the feast enchantment lend. 

Now while old songs are earrolled, and all hearts are 

full of glee, 
'Tis moved and seconded, and all without demur agree. 
That each shall send you greeting, in these free and 

easy rhymes. 
That, redolent of fun, shall stir the memories of old times. 

'Tis ordered that the host himself the first wish shall 

express. 
And I drain the brimming bumper, to your health, and 

happiness; 
Contented, prosperous, fortunate, unvexed by care or toil. 
May your days glide gracefully away is the wish of John 

COYLE. 



—341— 

May heaven its richest blessings shed upon your house 

and you! 
Your enemies prove impotent, your friends prove staunch 

and true, 
May your Life's current smoothly flow, nor vainly chafe 

and fret, 
Against the impediments of fate! this drinks James G. 

Berret. 

May all your paths be pleasantness, your life be free 

from care. 
Your Evening like your Morning and Meridian be fair. 
And when Life's Sunset calmly comes, may all your Sky 

be clear, 
I, W. Hunter, breathe this wish, heartfelt, and most sincere. 

I like the good old fashioned Toast, Health, Peace and 

Competence! 
Health, on good terms, with social cheer, and foe of 

abstinence ; 
Peace without dulness; Competence without frugality. 
All this in loving kindness Bev., E. Kingman wishes thee. 

May Heaven preserve you from all ills, this mortal state 

that vex. 
From all annoyances that sting, all troubles that 

perplex ! 



—342— 

May no great sorrow sadden you, and no bereavement 

chill, 
The generous heart we love so well! Thus wishes 

Clement Hill. 

May Canvass -backs and terrapins still be within your 

means ! 
May Pheasants not destroy your taste for homely jowl and 

greens ! 
Nor English rolls, corn -bread displace, nor any royal fish, 
Make you contemn Potomac shad! I, Arnold Harris, 

wish. 

May time take from you none you love, nor any friend 

estrange, 
Nor kindliness and confidence to cold indifference change I 
Nor doubt, or dumb suspicion of an old friend's truth 

spring up! 
To this C. W. BoTELER drains an overflowing cup. 

Let others wish you what they please, this wish, dear Bev., 

is mine; 
Soon may your chimney-corner be once more your only 

shrine ! 
At home with loving hearts around, no longer an estray. 
May you find happiness indeed! I, E. M. Tidball, praj'. 



—343— 

When e'er you want to borrow, may yon find a loyal 

friend, 
Who fortunately flush himself will be rejoiced to lend! 
You'll never want the ready will, a friend in need to aid, 
And may you never want the means, J. Knox Walker's 

wish is said. 
May these familiar Signatures, these unpretending rhymes. 

Sweet memories awaken, and bring back the good old 

times ! 
Oh Barnum! may you soon return, our merriment to 

share ! 
Vouchsafe this favour, Oh, ye Gods! is Charles H. 

Winder's prayer. 

If Fortune will be less than kind, may she not cruel be, 
Nor in her wrath afflict you with the last calamity. 
May you Congressional slavery 'scape, whatever else be- 
tides : 
This Robert W. Johnson asks, and asks no boon besides. 

May you full long with appetite and palate unimpaired. 
To feast on fish and flesh and fowl be mercifully spared! 
Without that penalty the gout, which some for pleasure 

pay, 
May you that luxury enjoy! I, Bucener Bayly, pray. 



—344— 

Health, Wealth and Happiness! may you this three-fold 

boon attain! 
May Envy, Hate, and Malice, seek to injure you in vain! 
And if, dear Bev., between us. Power again is put to choose, 
May you the wished for office win, and J. D. Hoover lose! 

May you ne'er lose your taste for Wine, nor then pota- 
tions choose. 

Nor off your feet or foundered, Bev., to drain your glass 
refuse, 

Long may the generous life-blood of the grape j'our wit 
inspire. 

And drive away dull care, old friend! wishes James C. 
McGuiRE. 

Whenever you're reported dead, and many a manly eye 
With tears attest the soul's sharp pain, may it be proved 

a lie! 
May such a wake be given yoii, as once was given me, 
And may I, Albert Pike, and all these friends be there 

to see! 

When e'er again a President you help to nominate, 
May your share of the pickings be at least a consulate! 
Due meed for loyal services, may none from you withhold 
Nor those you help ungrateful prove! thus wishes Robert 

OULD. 



—345— 

Should sorrows sadden yon, my friend or fortune prove 

unkind, 
Receive the buifets dealt by Fate, with firm and equal mind! 
From whatsoever quarters ill-luck's cross-winds wildly blow, 
May you as safe at anchor ride, as Tho3Ias Donoho. 

Dear Be v., I, Johann Savage, drink with all my soul to this : 
May all the arrows of hard fate your portly person miss! 
Lord love you, Bev., and bless you with those blessings 

manifold. 
Which round the home -hearth clustering, are more than 

place or gold. 

May those dear ones at home be spared to make with their 
sweet eyes. 

That home when to it you return, once more a Paradise! 

May you with them to cherish you, long walk Life's pleas- 
ant ways. 

And fall asleep in peace at last! Thus Walter Lenox 
prays. 

The last wish is assigned to me ; and as when old friends part, 
Hand lingers clasping hand, and heart seems clinging unto 

heart; 
So I, Hugh Caperton, so all with one accord do cry, 
While the voice falters at the word. Bear Bev., old friend, 
Good bye. 



CRUISKEEN LAN. 



Let the Statesman swarm like bees, 
At Receptions and Levees, 

And Diplomats the drawing -room adorn; 
Let Patriots grow gray. 
Fretting, fuming life away — 

I'm contented with my Cruiskeen Lan. 

Gra ma cree ma Cruiskeen, 

Slanthe gal ma Vourneeu, 

Gra ma cree ma Cruiskeen Lan; 

Gra ma cree ma Cruiskeen, 

Slanthe gal ma Vourneen, 

Gra ma cree ma Colleen ban, ban, ban, 
Gra ma cree ma Colleen ban. 

Let the Great love pomp and show. 
And Life's pleasures all forego. 

For Fame, that like a vapor soon is gone; 
And sour old Cent- per- cent 
Count his profits and his rents, — 

I am richer with my Cruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 

Let him who great would be 
Crook the hinges of the knee. 

And on Senators and Secretaries fawn; 



—347— 

I cannot duck and bend, 

But I'll alwaj's serve a friend, 

And enjoy my little Oruiskeen Lau. 

Chorus. 

Let him who fain would thrive. 
Usurious bargains drive. 

And what he calls his soul, to Satan pawn, 
I'll freely give and lend. 
And the rest as freely spend. 

And enjoy my darling Cruiskeen Lan, 

Chorus. 

Let the Fop exhale in sighs. 
At the blaze of Beauty's eyes, 

While her jewels reconcile him to her scorn; 
The melted rubies shine 
For us in generous wine, 

And diamonds in our Cruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 

Let Plutus have his rout, 

Where you're squeezed and knocked about, 

And enjoy yourself immensely — in a horn; 
Let the youthful and the gay 
Enjoy the bal masque; 

Give me a quiet Cruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 



—348— 

Let the "banker give his feeds, 
Where the modest no man heeds, 

And Parvenus on pompous Dullness fawn; 
Give me a jollier set, 
Of clever fellows met, 

At a friend's to taste his Cruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 

For no contracts we've to give, 
Nor any posts by which to live. 

And politics we gayly laugh to scoru ; 
While like brothers here we stand, 
Heart to heart, and hand in hand. 

With our smiling little Cruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 

More dear than gold to me 
Shall the recollection be 

Of the glorious Attic nights that are gone, 
When soul communed with soul. 
As away the swift hours stole, 

While we drank our smiling Cruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 

You may roam the world around 
To old ocean's farthest bound; 

Visit every land the sun looks down upon ; 



—349— 

And fellows to compare 

With our set you'll find nowhere, 

When they meet to taste their Cruiskseen Lan. 

Chorus. 

At Johnny Coyle's, egad! 
Many a frolic we have had; 

At Hoover's, Wallach's, Berry's seen the dawn; 
At Charley Boteler's, too, 
You with me, and I with you, 

Have enjoyed our smiling Cruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 

This evening with McGuire, 
Fun and frolic shall conspire 

To dissipate the cares of daylight born; 
And may we ne'er forget 
That we here to-night were met. 

To take a kindly Cruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 

Be friend to friend more dear; 
Let estrangements disappear 

As the mists that flit away before the morn; 
Good-bye to jars and feud, 
Let the old ties be renewed. 

As once more we take our Chruiskeen Lan. 

Chorus. 1859. 



*' OH, JAMIE BREWED A BOWL 
O' PUNCH." 



A SQNG. 



Oh, Jamie brewed a bowl o' punch, 

And a' his friends to help cam'. in; 
A jollier set of chiels than they 

Thegither '11 ne'er be seen again. 
They were na fu', they were na fu' 

But just a wee drap in their e'e; 
The cock might craw and the day might daw', 

But where the punch was, aye they'd be. 

Now brew the punch, McGuire, said he, 

And mak' it Strang and make it guid. 
For nae thing i' the warld's like punch 

To warm the heart or stir the bluid. 
For we're na fu', we are na fu', 

But just a drappie in our e'e; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw', 

But where the punch is aye we'll be. 

So Charley Boteler brought the bowl — 

A huge big bowl, a mighty ane. 
Wherein if ony man should fa' 

He'd droon, if not himsel', his pain; 



—351— 

For Charley, too, he was na fii', 

But just a drappie in his e'e; 
The cock might craw, the day might daw', 

But where the punch was, aye'd be he. 

And neist cam' Jonah Hoover in. 

And brought the lemons for his share, 
And said "We'll ha'e a time to-night. 

Gin I never drink a jorum mair. 
For I'm na fu', I'm na that fu' 

But just a drappie in my e'e; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw', 

But where the punch is, aye I'll be." 

George Gideon wi' the sugar cam', 

And dinged it i' the mighty bowl. 
And cried " Mak' haste, boys, wi' your brew!"- 

For George ye see 's a thirsty soul: 
He was na fu', was na that fu'. 

But just a drappie in his e'e; 
The cock might craw, the day might daw'. 

But where the punch was, aye'd be he." 

And Arnold Harris brought the tea, 
Sma' was the use he had for that. 

Sin' when its taste and water's too. 

He i' th' AuLD Seventh had clean forgat. 



—352— 

He was na fu', was iia that fii', 

But just a drappie in his e'e; 
The cock might craw, the day might daw', 

But where the punch was, aye'd be he. 

Then fu' of quips and jokes, and jests. 
Cam' waubling in douce Johnny Coyle 

Wi' aue big jug of Farintosh, 

Auld as himself, and smooth as oil. 

He was na fu , &c. 

George French popped in the lumps of ice, 
Nae sign was that his heart was eauld. 

And aye he trilled a merry sang, 
And syne a funny story tauld. 

He was ua fu', &c. 

At last McGuire lugs out a wheen 

Great bottles filled wi' generous wine, 
Whilk wi' the lave the brew completes, 

A nectar glorious and divine. 
They were na fu', they were na fu', 

But just a drappie in their e'e, 
The cock might craw, the day might daw', 

But where the punch was aye they'd be. 



—353— 

So now the brew 's a' mixed and made, 

We'll gather round it stoup in hand, 
And a blither set ye shall na find 

In Pagan or in Christian land. 
For we're na fu', we're na that fu', 

But just a droppie in our e'e; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw', 

But where the punch is, aye we'll be. 

So here's to me, and here's to you. 
To present and to absent friends. 

And here's to him who patient takes 
The ills misfortune to him sends. 

For we're na fu', &c. 

Time taks our friends aff fast eneugh. 
And while we live we'll part wi' nane; 

Aft as they err, we'll still forgi'e 
Their errors, mindfu' o' our ain. 

For we're na fu', &c. 

Wha first shall fail to drain his cup, 
Nae true man shall henceforth be ca'ed; 

Wha last shall fill his goblet up. 

And drink it, shall be Prince and Lord. 



—354— 

For we're na fu,' we are na fu', 
But just a drappie in our e*e; 

The cock may craw, the day may daw', 
But where the punch is, aye we'll be. 



1860. 



A SONNET. 



Lo! the calm evening of a stormy life; 

The Sun, unclouded, in the West declining; 
Peace at the end of discontents and strife. 

Peace to the heart long for affection pining; 
The mellow radiance that October fancies. 

On clouds no longer storm -vext softly shining, 
Whose golden splendour on their blue peaks dances, 

And paints with purple glow the silver lining. — 
Mine! and, behold, in gentle splendour smiles. 

Over the mountains and brown wildernesses. 
The Evening Star, among the silver isles. 

Star of the Love my autumn -eve that blesses. 
That never changing, its sweet self expresses. 
In loving looks, kind words and bashful kisses. 

January, 1874. 



WHEN CALIFORNIA WAS A FOREIGN 

LAND. 



Read Before the National Convention of Mexican War 
Veterans, January 16, 1874. 

y 

"When California was a foreign land!" 
How many shadowy, ghost -like figures stand 
Between that Then and Now! — forms of dead Years, 
Old, meager, pale; and four all blood and tears, 
With faces full of pain and agony, 
And sitting bowed in speechless misery: 
And three, the farthest from us, laurel -crowned. 
The Years for victories over foreign foes renowned. 

Comrades and Friends, the glorious Past recall; 
Live in it again; in memory upon all 
Your well-known fields of battle stand again. 
Young, hopeful, eager, proud, as you were then. — 
Rebels, against the tyranny of time, 
Ride through the hills, the mountain -passes climb; 
Camp on the streams through fertile vales that flow, 
From the broad beds of everlasting snow; 
Hear once again the Aztec eagle scream; 
See once again Santana's lances gleam; 
The toils and hardships of the march endure; 
Win glorj', and your country's thanks secure. 



—357— 

"When California was a foreign land!" — 
If time's not raeasured by the dropping sand 
That counts the silent moments as they flit, 
But by the great deeds that are done in it, 
Then, Comrades, 't is a century or more 
Since Yankee arras the flag of glory bore, 
From Palo Alto, and from Vera Cruz, 
Destined the day upon no field to lose, 
To the Belen gate; and on its every fold 
To have new glories added to the old; — ' 
By Taylor's legions won at Monterey; 
On Buena Vista's memorable day; 
Where Kearney led to victory his command. 
And Stockton's sailors learned to fight on land; 
At Sacramento, where the brave troops, led 
By Doniphan, the foe discomfited; 
On Chnrucusco's bloody causeway won; 
By deeds of valor at Contreras done; 
When Worth and Quitman stormed Chapultepee, 
And Mexico lay stranded like a wreck. 

After Resaca, when the Motherland, 
With sword uplifted in her mighty hand. 
Called on her sous to meet the braggart foe. 
And bear her banners into Mexico, 
Her trumpet-call, in every hamlet heard. 
The North and South alike inspired and stirred. 



—358— 

Then from the icy hills of pine -clad Maiue, 
And the great lakes, rang out the same refrain. 
To the Mexique Gulf and farthest Arkansas — 
"Ready!" and "Forward to the seat of war!" 
Then from the cities reigning by the sea, 
And inland marts of earnest industry, 
From the lone homes of hardy husbandmen, 
Came forth the toilers with the plow and pen. 
Idlers and artisans, to volunteer; 
To all alike their country's honor dear. 
Little they cared the cause of war to know; 
Enough for them that far in Mexico, 
Our little army, then the nation's pride, 
Faced gallantly red war's advancing tide, 
And if not shortly re-inforced would be, 
It and the nation's flag, in jeopardy: — 
The flag that tyranny abhors and hates, 
Whose golden Stars the symbols were of States, 
Each star a sun that with its own light shone. 
Not planets, with reflected light alone, — 
And making with their stellar harmony 
The Constellation's radiant unity. 

Then, one by one, the days of glory came, 
That neither North nor South alone could claim, 
Nor wished to; whose immortal memories are 
The common heritage of every Star; 



—359— 

Until the conquest of a nation crowned 
Our arms, and golden California found 
No tyrant, by the right of conquest Lord, 
To rule her by the tenure of the sword; 
But Freedom, ruling by her right divine. 
Making her, too, a Star, with ours to shine. 
Nor did we take her by the sword alone, 
But by fair purchase made her all our own. 

England remembers, with no lessening pride. 
The old fields by her sons' blood sanctified; 
Remembers Agincourt, and Crecy, too. 
And Poictiers, as well as Waterloo. 
Shall the old glories of our arms grow pale. 
Eclipsed by the later? Shall the names grow stale, 
And dim, like stars veiled by an envious cloud. 
Of which their country once was justly proud? 
Let us, at least, in reverence hold these names. 
And guard with jealousy their worthy fames; 
Honoring, as then we honored, all the brave, 
When Illinois strewed flowers on Butler's grave. 
When Indiana mourned the fate of Yell, 
And Mississippi wept when Hardin fell; 
Remembering that we all were Yankees there, 
And in the common glory had a share. 
Consenting not that any State should claim 
Exclusive right to any hero's fame. 



♦«WILT THOU ON THY SWEET BOSOM 

WEAR?" 



Wilt thou on thy sweet bosom wear, 

The cross I seud to thee, 
Disdaining not the gift that tells 

How dear thou art to me? — 
Threads of thy soft, brown, precious hair 

Do therein intertwine, 
Querida! by thy sweet consent, 

With some gray threads of mine. 

Sweetheart! perhaps, when I am dead, 

It may kind memories wake, 
Of one who little cares to live. 

Except for thy sweet sake; 
Who, hoping for such love alone. 

As youth to age can give. 
Could, losing even that, no less 

Only to love you live. 

Darling! upon my breast unseen. 

Its match and mate I wear, 
Thrilled with the same sweet influence, 

As when thy head lay there: — 



—361— 

And those who find it there when I 

Am silent, still and cold, 
May say, perhaps, "this man still loved, 

"Though he was gray and old." 

There let them leave the triple cross. 

Of deathless love the sign. 
Under the grass and on my heart. 

For it is wholly mine: — 
Though frost -sere leaf and soft spring -flower 

Not fit companions be. 
Yet I, grown old, O Darling! love 

Bej'ond all measure thee. 

November 13, 1874 



24— P 



a, 

3d. 



THE WAIF RETURNED. 



I send home yonr glove, my daiiiug! 

Darling! loving and true! 
Tester -eve left where you sat by me; 

And my heart goes with it to you. 

Goes with it all love and devotion, 
To win sweet looks from your eyes, 

Like the flower which, thirsting in Summer, 
For the sweet rain at noon-daj' sighs. 

I send it, yet fain would keep it, 

For the little hand that, in mine, 
Yester-eve so lovingly nestled. 

When your kisses were sweeter than wine. 

Come back soon! — I pine, my darling! 

For the clasp of your hand again; 
Bring back. Dear! the heart that goes to you. 

And struggles for freedom in vain, 

August 16, 1875. 



CLEOPATRE. 



Go! woo the sweet South -wind, vain man! 

The south -wind capricious and gaj', 
To be steadfast and constant and true, — if you can,- 

To you only, but for a day: 

It will laugh at you, dancing away, 
Other lovers to win with caresses; 

Yet as easily keep the gay South -wind you may, 
Bringing odors from maidens' soft tresses, 
As her, whom so many have loved and adore. 
That man's love, for her, has a value no more. 

Go! sue for the rose's perfume. 

That no one may share it with you! 
And with blushes for you only ask it to bloom. 

When fifty as ardently sue : 

It will laugh with its bright eyes of dew, 
Its graceful head coyly inclining. 

As if weary of words that no longer are new. 
And to win new adorers designing; 
So she hears, whose eyes once her fondness i-evealed. 
And her lips sweet assurance of constancy sealed. 



—364 — 

Go! vex, when the red Sunset dies, 

The Evening -Star on her throne, 
With your vows of devotion and vain tears and sighs. 

To win her to love you alone! 

Pour your heart out in songs all her own, 
And exist only while you behold her! — 

She will smile still, and shine as she always has shone. 
Upon all who their folly have told her; 
As the ej^es that you love so, the bright sweet eyes. 
Fain would make, everj"" day, a new heart their prize. 

Entreat the brown throstle, in May, 

Staring gravelj' at you, where he swings 
In the tree-top, to sing for j-ou only, to-day. 

The song that to hundreds he sings; 

And the tremulous stir of his wings, 
And the gay song say 'no' to jour suing: 

So your darling less fondly and close to you clings, 
So, impatiently, half-hears your wooing; 
While for new hearts to win with her soft pleading eyes. 
And her sweet ways and words, she unconsciously sighs. 

The bee ask, to haunt but one flower; 

The fawn, at but one spring to drink; 
Ask the down in the air to be still but one hour. 

The Stars' diamond ej^es not to wink! — 



—365— 

But be not so vain as to think 
That the sweet May can long love November: 

The Stars look not back to the brink 
Of the blue Sea, lost loves to remember; 
The bright -eyed and beautiful waste no regrets 
On the Past, which the young heart soon gladly forgets. 

Bring back the sweet face! Set it here, 

With the roses a -near, where you write; 
That the eyes which have blessed you so many a year. 

May never be out of your sight. 

When you work there, by day or by night. 
It will change not, though she grow disdainful; 

Do not Genius and Beauty to Youth give the right, 
To the self- deceived victims though painful, — 
To win and to waste a new heart every hour. 
Like the breeze and the bird; like the star and the flower 1 

September 3, 1875. 



AS THE SEASONS COME AND GO. 



The fresh young leaves are coming, Dear! 

In the genial j)rime of May ; 
And the bees in the blooms are humming, Dear, 

And the world is glad and gay; 
Is gay and glad, in the ripe bright Spring, 

Forgetting the Winter -snow; 
But Winter again the snows must bring. 

As the Seasons ebb and flow; 
And so the world goes' round in a ring. 

As the Seasons come and go. 

As the Seasons come and go, and the years 

One after another die. 
With wan sad faces wet with tears, 

And the laugh that ends in a sigh; 
In a sigh, — and, sighing, our hopes and joys 

Pace after them, sad and slow. 
With our manhood's baubles and childhood's toys, 

As the Seasons ebb and flow. 
Leaving us only the pleasure that cloys, 

As the Seasons come and go. 



—367— 

The lads are the fair girls wooing, Dear! 

In the rath glad days of Spring, 
And the graybeards for young loves suing, Dear! 

While the thrushes, mating, sing. 
They are wise, — for the Young grow old and gray, 

And Time is a fair girl's foe; 
And maids are fickle, and men will stray, 

As the Seasons ebb and flow; 
For Love's Forever is but a day, 

As the Seasons come and go. 

In the new Love's lap all the old are forgot. 

When the mouth new kisses craves; 
They are gone, like prayers remembered not. 

One after one, like the waves: 
On the dead Loves' ashes the live Loves tread. 

And into its fires we throw 
The false girl's pictures, the tress of the Dead! 

As the seasons ebb and flow. 
Forgetting the once -sweet lips so red. 

As the Seasons come and go. 

No! No! — there were Loves we cannot forget. 

Charming faces, forever dear; 
Sweet lips, with whose kissing ours tingle yet. 

Loving words we shall alwaj's hear; 



—368— 

Eyes that we always shall look into, 
Whether thej' love us or no; 

Adorations immortal, tender and true, 
Though the Seasons ebb and flow; 

Immortal, Darling! as mine for you, 
While the Seasons come and go. 



September 6 1875. 



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